Where Angels Tread
by emmbrancsxx0
Summary: CROSSOVER: SUPERWHOMERLOCK. When Sam gets trapped by the Weeping Angels in medieval Camelot, Dean employs the help of some strange new friends to get him back. Meanwhile, Sam and Merlin stumble upon a plot that may kill the king.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Where Angels Tread  
**Programs:** _Supernatural, Doctor Who, Sherlock, Merlin  
_**Rating: **M  
**Type: **Crossover  
**Setting:** _Supernatural, _between the season seven episodes "There Will Be Blood" and "Surival of the Fittest"; _Doctor Who_, after "The Doctor, the Widow, and the Wardrobe"; _Sherlock_, after "The Reichenbach Fall"; _Merlin_, after "The Sword in the Stone, Part 2."  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of these characters or stories. I am just an obsessed fangirl writing a fic.  
**Summary:** When Sam gets trapped by the Weeping Angels in medieval Camelot, Dean employs the help of some strange new friends to get him back. Meanwhile, Sam and Merlin stumble upon a plot that may kill the king.  
**Reviews would be appreciated.**

**Chapter One.**

_Oak Grove, Oregon  
__May 15__th__, 2012_

They'd been in houses just like it hundreds of times, but Sam couldn't remember a time when they had one to call their own. Dean did, but just barely. It had thick blue curtains on every window, a well-worn sofa, appliances that the previous home's owners never dreamed of, and framed pictures of smiling faces—the normal suburban home of a normal suburban family, or at least it used to be. The happy family of four, not to mention their fluffy Pomeranian, disappeared without a trace three weeks back, along with any neighbor, extended family member, or police official who entered the house in the weeks that followed. At least ten people had gone missing without a trace.

"It's like the place gobbles up anyone who walks through the front door," Dean had said when they read about the case in the newspaper two days prior.

The only one to get out alive so far was a teenager from the local high school, Jordan Michaels. He and two of his friends decided it might be a good idea to sneak into the so-called "haunted" house on a bet. The other two boys had vanished that night, and none of the cops believed Jordan's story. No one did, not until Sam and Dean showed up.

The grandfather clock in the next room chimed, warning them that it was one in the morning, and Sam cocked his rifle out of instinct. The noise made Dean jump, too, and he raised the sledgehammer in his hands to thin air before relaxing and lowering it again. They had both been on edge all night, because they were somewhat unsure of just what they were up against.

_If it bleeds, you can kill it_, had been a Winchester family motto for years; but Sam wasn't sure stone could bleed.

"Tell me again what these things are?" Dean asked, keeping his eyes peeled as he looked around the darkened room.

"Uh, they're called the Weeping Angels," Sam replied from across the room, trying not to give a droning textbook description—not like any textbook would seriously talk about anything like these creatures. Research on them was a bitch. "Some online forums say they're from a different planet, and if you get touched by one of them, you get sent off to Never-Never Land." Sam scoffed at his own words.

"Uh-huh," answered Dean, nonplussed. "And what do _sane_ people say about 'em?"

"Sane people?" Sam let out a laugh. "Jack-squat. But the earliest mention of them goes back to medieval times, in fable. It's an old Arthurian legend."

"Saying what?" Dean had taken to inspecting an antique vase on the mantelpiece. Unsure if his brother was even listening anymore, Sam went on regardless.

"They were witches, and traitors to the crown, who the old sorcerer Merlin turned into living stone, and trapped them for eternity in Orion's Belt as punishment."

Dean let out a heavy sigh. "Just wish we had more to go on than Gandalf or this X-Files crap," he said.

Sam shrugged. "Well, there isn't much on these things, but any lore I could find on them said the same thing: they look like ordinary statues, but when you look away, they come to life."

"Better not look away, then," Dean muttered. "Alright. How d'we kill 'em?"

Sam was just about to open his mouth to say he had no clue. He scoured the Internet looking for any mention of these things, but he didn't find a single line on how to kill them. _Figures_, he thought, _I doubt anyone on an online forum leaves their mother's basement, let alone knows how to kill anything_. Sam assumed guns were useless against stone, and probably their best bet was getting close enough to smash the thing into pieces; hence the sledgehammer. The bullets, of course, were precautionary.

He would have said all this, but a sudden crash from the other room interrupted him. Sam swung his rifle towards the open doorway, listening carefully for any other sounds. When a sound finally came, it was a whisper from behind him.

"Sam," Dean hissed to get his brother's attention. Sam glanced behind himself at Dean, who silently nodded his head towards the doorway, giving Sam the signal to go in. Then Dean tilted his head towards the kitchen. "I'll take the back the way. Let's trap this sucker." Seconds later, he disappeared into the dark kitchen.

Sam hunched his shoulders and stepped slowly into the next room, cringing at each floorboard that creaked under his weight. His eyes searched his new surroundings, which were decorated similarly to the previous room, and he heard a slight murmuring coming from down the hall.

"Dean?" Sam called in a loud whisper, his rifle still ready in his hands as he inched passed a window towards the sounds. He was too preoccupied with the voices to notice the dark figure on the other side of the window, standing motionless with its arm outstretched, crushing the flowerbed.

"Yeah, Sammy, it's alright," he heard Dean's voice echo from down the hall. "Come on in here."

Sam let out a sigh of relief and relaxed his shoulders, but it wasn't until that moment that he felt a strange presence behind him. He spun around quickly, hardly having enough time to register the form of a grayish colored statue just inches away; it's arms were stretched over its head like it was about to pounce, and its face was twisted grotesquely to reveal fang-like stone teeth.

Sam let out a "whoa" and jumped backwards, his entire body cringing in instinctual defense, as his rifle went off.

* * *

The kitchen appeared to be empty as Dean entered it, holding the sledgehammer up in one hand and his flashlight in the other. His eyes swept the room, taking in the regular kitchen appliances, the large bay window over the sink, and the sliding glass door that led outside to the backyard. When his eyes fell on the island counter in the middle of the room, he heard a soft hushing noise from behind it.

Raising the hammer higher into the air, he swiftly and silently moved towards the other side of the counter, keeping his composure even when he saw two small masses huddled together on the floor. They yelped and weakly try to shield themselves with their arms. Dean let out a heavy breath and let his arms drop to his side, relieved to have the weight lifted.

"C'mon, you two. Up," he commanded the two teens, who instantly rose up from their huddle. The first was a tall, lanky-limbed boy with sandy colored hair; the other was a short girl, whose long straggly hair covered her eyes as she looked down at the floor. "What the hell d'you think you're doing here?" Dean demanded, going into parent-mode.

"W-we wanted to see a haunted house," said the boy guiltily, constantly trying and failing to look Dean in the eye. "We're from the next town over. Some of our friends said people disappeared from this house."

"So you thought it'd be a good idea to spend the night in it?" Dean didn't expect an answer.

"Please, mister! Don't call the police!" the girl finally broke her silence. "I have a scholarship!"

Dean heard Sam call his name from the down the hall, and he realized his brother must have been wondering where he was. "Yeah, Sammy, it's alright," he called back. "Come on in here."

He turned his attention back to the teenagers. "Alright, kids, playtime's over," he said, exasperated, as he walked over to the kitchen door and slid it open, gesturing for the kids to walk through it. "Go study or drink in a park or whatever it is you do." He pushed a smile onto his face as the teenagers bowed their heads and exited the house.

"Man, when did it become my job to _babysit_?" Dean muttered under his breath as he slid the door closed and turned back to the dark room, now empty.

_Where the hell is Sam?_

Dean was just about to call for his brother again when he heard a loud gunshot ring out from the other room.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, his heart skipping a beat, as he ran down the hall and skidded to a halt in the room. It was empty. There was no sign of Sam, save for his shotgun lying abandoned on the floor.

"Sam?" Dean called again, raising the sledgehammer. No one answered.

"_Sam_!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two.**

The old Dodge Viper's engine revved as it flew down the 105, which was mostly empty at this time of night. On its inside, Dean's knuckles were white against the steering wheel. He didn't know where he was driving, but it seemed a lot better than sitting around doing nothing. Maybe he'd find Sam back at Rufus' cabin in Montana; maybe not. He'd drive across the whole of America if it meant finding Sam.

He'd stayed back in Oak Grove for at least two hours after Sam had disappeared. He damn near tore the house down to the nubs looking for his brother, and then headed back to the motel, hoping Sam would be there. No dice. He'd driven around town for an hour, hoping Sam would show up on the streets somewhere, but he was nowhere to be seen. Dean tried calling Sam's cell phone, but it went straight to voicemail each time.

Sam was gone. Dean could feel it in his bones.

A soft sound filled the car, the flutter of wings, quick and low enough to miss; but what came after it was not.

"Hello, Dean," a gruff voice next to Dean broke the silence, followed by the loud angry buzz of the swarm of bees now zipping around the interior of the car.

"What the _hell_!" Dean shouted, nearly driving the car off the road while swatting at the bees. He hissed as at least four stingers penetrated his skin. "Cas! Get these things outta here!"

From the passenger seat, Castiel snapped his fingers and the bees disappeared. Dean rubbed at the sore spot on his neck where he had been stung. "You tryin' to kill me?" he complained, finally getting a good look at the angel sitting next to him. Cas was smiling softly, his usual long brown trench coat and dirty white hospital garments missing, leaving him completely exposed.

"Ugh, Cas!" Dean pulled a face, and looked away, giving the angel a few glances out of the corner of his eye but making sure to keep his gaze above the waist. "Put some clothes on, will you?"

"Dean, the human body is a miracle—"

"Yeah, so's this car's upholstery," Dean cut in. "Clothes. Now."

Cas snapped his fingers again and, instantly, he was fully dressed.

"_Thank_ you," Dean breathed.

"You called?" Cas said, getting down to business, and Dean felt comfortable enough to take his eyes off the road for a moment to look at him.

"That was _three hours ago_, man," he scolded. "Where were you?"

"I was collecting honey," the angel said matter-of-factly.

"_Naked_?" Cas said nothing; instead, he blinked and stared at Dean, his lips still curved into a soft smile. Dean clenched his jaw and decided to let that one go. "Of course you were," he said sarcastically, but then got down to business himself. "It's Sam. He's gone."

From the passenger seat, Cas nodded. "I know. I saw."

"You _saw_." It wasn't a question.

"I see many things now, Dean."

"And you didn't come?" The frustration was leaking back into Dean's tone. Cas just blinked. "Well, where the hell is he?"

"I don't know," Castiel admitted. "I can't sense him anywhere. He's . . . out of my reach." He looked at his lap and then back to Dean. "I _have _been searching for him, Dean."

"And?"

"And the creature that touched him has infinite power. It can send people back through time in a single touch," Cas explained. "Sam can be anywhere in history."

Dean cupped the back of his neck with one hand and began massaging the tension out of his stiff muscles, which were always so tense from what seemed like a lifetime of perpetually being behind the wheel of a car that it became the norm; but it was times like these that he could really feel it.

"Well, can't you just pop back into the past and pick him up?" Dean asked and put both hands back on the wheel, but Cas' attention was now out the window as they passed a deer on the side of the road.

The angel sighed. "Did you know this is a hunting area?" he said. "I don't understand why anyone would want to kill such a beautiful creature for sport. It's only a matter of time until that poor deer meets a cruel fate. Perhaps I should go back and take it to a more secure area of the country where—"

"Would you forget the fuckin' deer!" Dean yelled, slapping the steering wheel with his palm. He'd had enough. At his side, Cas fell silent, and was sheepishly looking down at his lap, like a child who had just been scolded. Dean sighed and tried to compose himself.

_Okay_, he thought, _yelling isn't gonna work. Maybe reasoning with the guy will._

"Look," Dean started, softening his voice as best he could. "I can't take out Dick alone. I could really use somebody in my corner right about now. You're obviously not in the Leviathan-bashing-mode, and Bobby's gone AWOL . . . Sam's all I got, alright? I need him."

Cas looked at Dean intently for a moment, sorrow in his large blue eyes. "I'm sorry, Dean," he said at last. "I can't help you."

"Can't or won't?" Dean retorted.

"_Can't_," the angel said definitively, and a part of his old self lingered in the forcefulness of the word. Dean glanced at the angel out of the corner of his eye, as though he expected the old Cas to somehow break through to the surface and start talking sense. He allowed himself a moment to hope, a moment to wish his friend would come back, but the angel gave a heavy sigh and whatever memory there was of his former self left in the exhale.

"It's difficult for me to bend time. You know that," Cas said patiently. "Especially if I don't know _when_ I'm looking for. I just don't have that kind of power . . . But there's someone who does. You could call him an expert on these matters."

Dean almost snapped his neck to look back at Cas, expecting him to go on. When it was apparent the angel wasn't going to explain, Dean decided to give him a nudge. "Great. Who is he?"

"His name is the Doctor."

"The _Doctor_," Dean repeated, just happy that he was finally getting information out of the angel. "How d'we find him?"

There was a pause, and Cas turned away from Dean and gazed up at the dark starry sky through the window. "He's a hard man to reach," he said, the transparent reflection of his lips on the glass moving as he spoke. "But he isn't without his friends."

"What friends?"

He looked back to Dean. "There's a man in London, Sherlock Holmes . . . He can find you the Doctor."

"London? Cas, you gotta get me there," Dean said, not even caring about keeping his eyes on the road now.

"Dean—" the angel started to protest, but Dean cut in before he could make up any excuses.

"No, no! I can't just hop on a plane to—to England, Cas. I don't have that kind of time," he said hurriedly. "Sam could be dead by then." He held Castiel's gaze for a moment, then licked his lips and forced out a "please."

Cas nodded his head after a beat, then lifted his hand and reached for Dean's forehead with two fingers. Dean closed his eyes and prepared to be zapped off. When he opened them again, the sun was shining high in the sky. He was standing on a city street, outside a small restaurant with a red awning that read _Speedy's Sandwich Bar & Cafe_. Next to it was a small dark green door that had the golden metal number 221B nailed onto it.

He considered that the Viper he had been driving probably veered off the road and wrapped itself around a tree back in America. _Ah well, it was just a rental anyway_, Dean thought. And whatever small amount of weapons that had been packed into the trunk could be replaced. _There's more guns where that came from_.

Dean turned to Cas and pointed at the door with his thumb. "That it?" he asked.

Cas nodded. "You should find Sherlock in there."

"Should?" Dean said, rolling his eyes and starting up the concrete stairs to the door, Cas in tow. "Let's hope he hasn't gone out for fish and chips or whatever."

He pushed down the doorbell with his index finger until the door creaked open, revealing a small man with sandy colored hair in a white sweater. He stared intently at Dean and blinked a few times, as though waiting for him to speak.

"Uh, hi," Dean said unsurely, forcing a smile to his face. "We're looking for Sherlock Holmes."

The man's brow furrowed in confusion for a split second and his eyes flashed behind Dean, then back. "Who's _we_?" he asked.

"Wha—?" Dean started, and then looked to his side to find Cas had disappeared. He threw his arms up in defeat. "Dammit, Cas!" he muttered under his breath, then turned to the man and tried again: "Alright. _I'm_ looking for Sherlock Holmes." The man's expression didn't change. He just stared. "Is he home?"

"You really don't know?" the man said finally. "Do they not have the news in America?"

Dean blinked in confusion. "Know _what_?"

The man clenched his jaw and said nothing for a few moments, sizing Dean up, and then said, "He can't see you now. He's not in." He tried to close the door, but Dean stopped it with the palm of his hand.

"Listen, buddy," he said. "I really need the guy's help." He licked his lips, forcing himself to be more polite. He explained, "It's my brother. He disappeared, and I was told Sherlock can help find him."

"What do you mean, he's disappeared?" the man asked, sounding interested. When Dean was confident the man wouldn't try to slam the door in his face again, he released his hold on it.

"He was touched by an angel, and I don't mean the crappy TV series." The man looked confused again, but Dean decided to power through it. "Look," he said, gesturing with both hands and trying to get back on track. "I need Sherlock to get me in touch with a guy called the Doctor."

There was a pause, and then: "You want the Doctor?" The man was now staring at Dean like he had two heads, like he had said something impossible.

Dean's eyes shifted unsurely, then he nodded and gave a "yeah."

Finally, the man opened the door the whole way and stepped to the side, making room for Dean to step through the threshold.

"Come in."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three.**

He was led upstairs into the small, shabby apartment, and Dean couldn't help but notice the stuffy smell the main room gave off, no matter how many windows were opened in attempt to waft the stale scent away. It lingered in the air like the door had been closed weeks ago and everyone forgot to open it again, like something had died and wasted away without anyone noticing. The apartment was strange, but Dean found himself oddly comfortable in it: it was the home of man who had more important things to do than stick around and decorate. One wall was covered in maroon and gold wallpaper, while the wall directly opposite to it had floral pattern black and white wallpaper on which someone had drawn a smiley face in dripping yellow paint. There was a black leather couch on this wall, but the rest of the room was empty, except for the dozens of cardboard boxes that were filled to the brim with the assorted small necessities of living. Dean thought he saw a skull in one of them, too.

"Tea?" the other man asked, already starting towards the bluish colored kitchen.

"Uh, no," Dean said, shifting around a bit, not sure whether or not to sit down. He decided to sit. "Thanks."

"Well, I'd like some tea," the other man said, putting the kettle on. "My name is John, by the way."

"Dean."

John pulled one of the chairs from the kitchen into the main room and sat down opposite Dean. Dean hinted a sort of familiarity in the way John did this, like it was a process he'd executed hundreds of times. "Sorry about the mess," he said, nodding towards the boxes.

"Moving out?" Dean asked awkwardly, but John didn't answer; he just stared. There was something about that stare: fixated, calm, calculating. He looked you in the eye when you spoke, never relenting. The look in his eyes was the same one Dean saw every day when he looked in the mirror: the look of a soldier.

He looked around the room again, trying to avoid the stare. "So, uh, is Sherlock comin' back any time soon?"

"No," John answered almost immediately. He averted his eyes to the floor. "He's—he's dead."

Dean felt his breath hitch in his throat. "Excuse me?" he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Has been for some months now," John went on, and the strong look in his eyes was somewhat weaker than it was before when he looked back at Dean.

"No. No, see, he can't be dead," Dean said, leaning forward and wiping his palm down his mouth. "This guy was kinda my last hope here."

"You said you wanted Sherlock to find you the Doctor," John said. "That would make the Doctor your last hope."

"Yeah. So?"

"So, _I_ can get you the Doctor," John said flatly. He reached into his pocket and took out his phone and looked down at it. "Last time I met the Doctor, he was fond of Sherlock . . . but he gave _me_ his mobile number, just in case we ever needed his help."

"Why you?" Dean asked.

John looked up at him and gave a soft, breathy chuckle. "You've never met Sherlock." He looked back at the phone in his hands, and then sat upright again. "Anyway, I'm not going to give it to you. Not until you tell me why you need him."

Dean felt a headache coming on. "Why not?" he barked.

John crossed his legs and fixed Dean with another stare. "Because you _can't_ know about the Doctor. You can't," he said. "No one knows about the Doctor. No one in their right mind, anyway."

Dean didn't know what that meant, but he assumed this Doctor was a part of the life—he was a hunter. Did that mean John knew about all the monsters that go bump in the night? Did the Doctor save John from something once?

"Yeah, well, who says I'm in my right mind?" Dean forced a smile onto his face. John blinked at him. "Look," Dean said pointedly. "The fact is, I know about him. And I need him. He's supposed to be an expert in the downright freaky, right? I get it. It's all hush-hush, but my brother was taken by something called a . . . _Weeping Angel_, and I've never seen anything like it before—"

Dean noticed that John was now giving him a strange look—one of controlled fear twinkling in his eyes. It was the first time Dean saw the man change his stony expression.

"Hold on, did you just say 'the Weeping Angels?'" John asked, unfolding his legs and leaning slightly forward.

"So, you've seen 'em?"

John didn't answer. He looked back down at his phone, scrolled through the contacts, and held it up to his ear.

* * *

_The planet Cyprus, the Mintaka Star System, Orion's Belt  
__Earth date: January 4__th__, 5380_

Gunshots rang out behind them as they as they rushed through the corridors, careful not to knock over any priceless works of art and trying to dodge every clear glass stand that housed an ancient artifact from a year centuries into Rory's future. _Not like it matters_, he thought, giving a quick look over his shoulder at the guards as he ran. _The place is already trashed_.

"Who gives museum guards guns?" Amy shouted from a few paces ahead of him, but she wasn't talking to him. She was speaking to the other man, the one whose long legs were leaving them both in the dust.

"In the year fifty-three-eighty?" the Doctor called back. "Who _doesn't_?"

The three of them spun around a corner, the guards right on their tails, and rushed towards the big blue box that stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the brownstone walls. "Oh, thank god," Rory muttered as the Doctor snapped his fingers, making the doors of the box swing open like some sort of panicked getaway car. Amy followed the Doctor through the doors, and Rory risked one more glance back at the guards before following in suit. He slammed the doors behind him and spun around to face them. The guards on the other side pounded on the wood.

"Uh, Doctor?" Rory said, keeping his eyes fixed on the doors and pointing at them with both index fingers. "Are you _positive_ that will hold?"

Over by the console, the Doctor and Amy ignored Rory's question. Instead, the Doctor bounded around the circular control panel, hitting buttons and pulling levers until the router began pumping up and down with a loud mechanical hum. Amy rested her palms on the console and peeked behind the router to look at the Doctor.

"Do you _have_ to mess with an artifact _every time _we visit a museum?" she was saying as Rory decided for himself that the coast was clear and joined the other two.

The Doctor was still twirling around the console. "That piece was a genuine Asooki musical instrument and they were displaying it as a—_a chair_!" he said, not noticing the muffled chirping coming from his jacket pocket. Apparently, neither did Amy. "It's not my fault they need a better curator."

"Is that a phone?" Rory interrupted.

"A phone?" the Doctor asked, stopping what he was doing to focus on Rory. Then his face lit up. "A phone!" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a plain black smartphone, its ringtone louder now. "A call from our boys on Baker Street," he told them.

Amy made her way around the console and folded her arms across her chest. "Sherlock?" she asked, her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "He never calls us."

"No," said the Doctor. "If it were Sherlock, it'd be a text." He answered the phone and put it up to his ear. "John," he said into the receiver, a beaming grin on his face.

The Doctor listened carefully for a few moments before his smile fell and a look of concern passed over his face. Then he looked up, his eyes meeting Amy's and holding her gaze. Rory held his breath. Nothing good ever came from that look; and nothing good ever came from something Sherlock Holmes was tangled up in.

Finally, the Doctor said, in a slow and deliberate tone, to the man on the other end, "We're on our way."

* * *

Both cups of tea lay forgotten on the kitchen counter as Dean paced around the small room. John, who was standing behind his chair now, both hands resting on the top frame, watched him.

"So—so these Weeping Angels," Dean said, waving a hand in the air as he stopped pacing and turned to John. "What are they? How d'you know about them?"

"About a year ago, people started disappearing—from churches, museums, community centers—Basically, built up areas," John explained, answering Dean's second question. "At first, it was nothing. Family members complained, but Sherlock thought it was nothing the police couldn't handle. But, once you hear enough of these cases, they all start to add up. Or at least they did for Sherlock . . . He decided to take the case, and that's how we met the Doctor. He said he deals with things like this all the time. Remember when all those planets were in the sky and those . . . _robot things_ were running about? Well, the Doctor said he was the one who sorted it."

"Yeah, I remember those things," Dean said. "They ruined one of my best guns. Never did find out what they were."

"The Doctor said they were aliens from another planet," John answered, pausing for a moment to stare into space and shake his head in near-disbelief. "So are the Angels."

Dean cocked his head to the side. _Aliens?_ he thought. _That doesn't sound like something a hunter would say._

"Uh, alright," Dean said, not fully believing John's words. "Well, how long is it gonna take him to get here? Should I meet him half way or somethin'?"

John only smirked.

Suddenly, a strong breeze swept through the room, kicking up the layers of dust that had formed in the abandoned apartment and making the cold ashes in the fireplace swirl in the air. Dean looked behind him towards the windows, but the curtains were billowing out, not in; the wind was coming from inside the room. A large mechanical boom sounded, and kept sounding, and Dean looked back at John with wide eyes. The man's own eyes were looking behind Dean, and he followed John's gaze.

The silhouette of a large rectangular box with a bright white flashing light on top began fading in and out inside the room, coming more and more into focus each time it reappeared. Finally, it became solid and both the clanging and wind stopped as quickly as they started. Dean turned his full body around slowly, his jaw clenched, as he stood before the large blue box, which read _Police Public Call Box_.

Dean didn't know what to do for a moment, and he realized that his hand was gripping his trusty Colt in the back of his jeans. The door of the box opened, and Dean prepared himself for anything.

Well, maybe not _anything_.

To his surprise, a redheaded woman poked her head out of the door, a broad smile on her face. "Well, what are you boys waiting for? Get in here," she called in a Scottish accent, waving Dean and John into the box. "We haven't got all day!" She chuckled a little and then disappeared back inside, leaving the door ajar.

Dean stood shell shocked, confused, panicked even, as he slowly turned his head to John for confirmation. John had a small, amused smirk on his face as he passed Dean and nodded toward the box. "Better do as she says," he advised Dean. "He doesn't like to wait." He, too, disappeared into the box.

Dean looked wildly around the apartment, his eyes flashing to the door. He didn't like this, not one bit, and every instinct told him to get the hell out of there; but that wouldn't help get Sam back. He didn't have a choice. He looked back at the box, shrugged a bit, and muttered, "Ah, what the hell?"

When he passed through the doorway, he expected to find a small, cramped space, but what he got was quite different. He was met with an entire room, orange and green in color, with a strange looking control deck that appeared to be made out of old household appliances. His yellow-flecked eyes went wide as they scanned the rest of the interior. On the edges of the room were two grated stairwells that seemed to lead to other rooms. There was a soft humming sound, like engines. Dean likened it to something he saw in Star Trek as a kid; but this wasn't a TV show, and Dean wasn't a kid anymore.

He gaped and raised an index finger and pointed slightly upwards, not sure whether to focus on the impossible interior of the box or on the four amused looking faces staring back at him. "No," he decided, doubling back and rushing out of the box. He took a look at the outside again, wondering if his eyes deceived him the first time and it really was a massive craft that had just landed in John's living room. Nothing had changed; it was still the same box.

"What the . . ." Dean trailed off, gulping hard as he looked back at the doors into the box.

_Okay_, he thought, trying to process it all. _So, aliens._

He didn't know if he was a glutton for punishment or if he was just insane, but he _had_ to see that again.

Full speed ahead, he busted through the doors and allowed them to swing shut behind them. The others were waiting for him. There was John, and next to him was the beautiful redheaded woman that had invited them in. Dean expected something "spaceier," but instead she was dressed in a mini-jean skirt, tights, and a regular tank top and jacket. Behind her was a small man with a rather large nose for his long face and with spiky hair; he, too, was wearing contemporary clothes. Then there was an oddly handsome young man, who looked like he rolled out of someone's grandpa's closet, leaning against the console and apparently too busy text messaging to give Dean the time of day.

Dean took another sweeping look around. "Oh, Sammy, if you were here, you'd be havin' a total nerd-out," he thought aloud.

"Sammy," the brown-haired man echoed loudly, shoving the phone into his pocket and standing upright. When he walked closer to Dean, he seemed to flutter. "I'm assuming that's your brother—the missing one?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean spoke, remembering that he had that ability. "I was told that you could help with the—the—" Dean waved his hand, searching for the right words.

"The Weeping Angels," the man offered, turning towards a monitor above the console. "John told me all about it over the phone. Didn't you, Dr. Watson?" John joined him over at the console; so did the others. Dean, realizing this was the thing to do, did the same.

"Yes, over in Oak Grove, Oregon, apparently," the man, who Dean assumed was the Doctor, said, seeming to speak to no one and every one at the same time.

"It's funny," Dean broke in, staring at the Doctor like he was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. "I was expecting someone . . . _older_."

The Doctor caught Dean's eye and grinned.

"Oh, don't get him started," the woman said airily, turning to Dean and offering him her slender, manicured hand. "I'm Amy."

Dean shook her hand and grinned handsomely. _Damn, what I wouldn't do to her_, he thought, but what he said was, "I'm Dean." Amy gave him a flirty smile and batted her eyes.

"Uh, and _I'm_ Rory," said the other man, cutting in from behind Amy. "Her husband."

Dean's face fell and he let go of Amy's hand. "Oh," he said shortly, trying to hide his disappointment by smiling at Rory. "Hi." He turned back to the Doctor. "So, uh, can you—help, I mean? Find Sam?"

The Doctor looked at him solemnly. "Do you know what a Weeping Angel is?" he said after a pause, but didn't wait for an answer. "Me neither. No one does. They're one of the most ancient creatures in the universe, with the ability to place people out of time. They can literally feed off a person's entire life—the life they would have lived, the time they would have had—by placing them somewhere else in history with a single touch. They're deadly, and fast, and absolute." His gaze didn't leave Dean's the entire time he spoke. "And their victims are nearly impossible to trace," he finished, saying what Dean had feared but would not accept.

"Oh, you're gonna trace Sam," he said sternly, daring the Doctor to tell him otherwise. "We're gonna find him, do you understand me? I didn't come all the way to London for you to tell me different."

The Doctor looked at him with compassion in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said. "There's nothing I can do."

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but it was John who spoke first. "Doctor," he said patiently, and everyone's eyes fell on him. "You've got one of the most magnificent machines in the whole world, capable of finding out any bit of information in history. Surely you can find a record of this man." The man was rational; Dean liked him.

He looked at John and nodded a silent thank you; John returned his gaze, then looked back at the Doctor, who appeared to be thinking.

"Perhaps," he said at last, "I can narrow it down—find the general time he landed in—give or take a few years—provided he landed in an era when records were kept. What's his name?"

"Sam—uh, Samuel Winchester. Maybe just Sam."

The Doctor turned back to the monitor. "This might take a few moments," he said, absently. "Nice work, John."

"Learnt from the best," John nodded. "It's what Sherlock would have suggested."

"Ah, where is ol' Sherlock, anyway?" Amy asked. "Busy out solving crimes? Cleaning up the streets of London?"

John said nothing. He looked down to the floor, and this made Amy's smile fall. "John?" she said in a worried tone.

"He's dead," the Doctor said, his voice solemn again, as he eyed John. Amy's eyes shot back and forth between the two men before grabbing at Rory for comfort. John nodded. "A suicide. Like you said, I have every record at my fingertips. They said he was a fake—that he made all of it up." He saw the cold look in John's eyes. "You don't agree?"

"Do you?" John said sharply.

"Of course not. You make some strong arguments—on your blog. Spreading the word to anyone who will listen to you: 'Sherlock Holmes was not a liar.' Good for you."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't seem like many people are listening anymore," John said, clearing his throat. "It's been months. Yesterday's news—People have moved on."

"Yes, well, Brangelina _is_ engaged now." The Doctor grinned; John did not.

"I've been trying to get on with my life—pack up the flat, move into a new one; go on dates," John said.

The Doctor nodded. "It's what he would have wanted," he said.

"No, it's not," John said instantly, in an airy voice.

"No, it's not," the Doctor agreed in the same tone.

"But, still, it's not all about Sherlock," John said, almost like he was trying to convince himself. "Too bad. It's what_ I_ want."

The Doctor nodded again, but before he could say anything else, a noise came from the monitor. "Ah! Now, let's see where Sam is," he said happily, rubbing his palms together and looking back towards the monitor. Dean eagerly tried to read what it said over his shoulder, but all it showed were circles and lines.

However, from the way the Doctor's smile faded, Dean knew it wasn't good news.

"No records," the Doctor said softly, facing Dean but not looking him in the eyes. "I'm sorry. He's lost."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four.**

_Present day England  
__August 23__rd__, 463_

Sam came to with a raging headache. He felt like he'd been hit over the head with a boulder, and his spine was also aching for some reason. "Dean?" he groaned, opening his eyes and squinting in the sunlight. _Where the hell am I?_ he thought, reaching under his back and pulling out a splintered wooden pole. He looked up and to the side, seeing the broken remnants of an old wooden fence that he had apparently fallen right in the middle of. That would explain the backache, anyway. He felt a presence next to him and heard a loud snort as a large, dirty pig started sniffing his ear.

He groaned, shooed the pig away, and sat up. Trying his best to get his bearings, he looked around his new surroundings; they contained mostly mud, more of the same fence on the other side of the modest property, and a small stone hut a few feet away.

"Ah, I am definitely not in Oregon anymore," he thought aloud, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms and accidently spreading fresh mud all over his face. He tried shaking the mud off his hands to no avail.

"Here! Here!" Sam heard a woman shout, and looked around again. A small woman in what looked like an old, raggedy peasant dress was racing towards him through the fence, a shaking finger outstretched in Sam's direction. Behind her followed three large men, all in chainmail and red tunics with a golden dragon embroidered on the chest.

Sam blinked in confusion. _Am I at the Renaissance Faire?_ he asked inwardly.

The men unsheathed three large, polished swords and rushed past the woman towards Sam.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Sam yelled, putting his arms up in a way that suggested he meant them no harm and scrambled to his feet. The men kept their weapons trained on Sam, and he briefly looked around for his rifle but found no sign of it. "Can I help you?" he said instead, his confusion leaking into his voice.

"I told you! He appeared out of nowhere and broke my fence!" the woman yelled from behind the men, still shaking at eyeing Sam like he was the monster that crawled out from the closet. Sam noticed that she spoke in a British accent.

"Oh, no, no," Sam said apologetically, trying to understand. "I didn't—I didn't mean to break your fence. I'm sorry, ma'am. I just—uh, I'm not really sure what's going on. See, a minute ago, I was in Oregon—with my brother, and now—"

"Or-gone?" one of the men interrupted, jabbing his sword forward and making Sam stumble back. "Is that in Lot's Kingdom?"

"What?" Sam asked, wrinkling his nose. He noticed a modest crowd forming around the perimeter of the fence, all men, women, and children with dirty faces, wearing rags; all of them looking at Sam with fear in their eyes.

"The King will want to see this," said another man.

"Bring him to the King! Let him be judged!" the woman shouted, and the people in the crowd began echoing her. Soon, it became a chant.

One of the men with the swords grabbed Sam's arms and forced them behind his back. "Hey!" Sam yelled, struggling against the man's grip. One of the others handed the first a small, heavy chain and he tightened it around Sam's wrist; then, he picked up his sword and touched the tip to Sam's back, daring him to escape.

"Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on!" Sam bellowed, not expecting an answer from the angry faces of the mob. While one man stayed in back of Sam, his sword still drawn, the others grabbed his arms on either side and hustled him forward.

Sam clenched his jaw and looked around wildly, his eyes searching the muddy unpaved streets, the stone and straw huts, the wooden horse-drawn wagons, and the medieval clothes of the people. He gulped and twisted his eyes shut, willing himself to wake up, trying to convince himself that this was all some crazy dream.

When he opened his eyes again, he looked up the hill at the mighty castle looming in the distance.

* * *

Arthur wore a look of utter disgust on his face as he eyed the statue up and down. "But why is it _crying_?" he asked for the second time in five minutes, and Merlin had half a mind to bash the King's head in; Albion be damned.

"I don't know," he said, popping his head up to look at Arthur from the other side of the statue. "_I_ didn't sculpt it. And it's not so bad . . . once you get used to it."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Who is it from?"

"Queen Annis," said Merlin, his eyes searching the throne room for a proper spot to place the eyesore. Preferably somewhere out of the way. He noticed a vacant area near one of the large pillars that lined the room and began the laborious task of pushing the statue toward it.

"I thought she'd have a little more taste than this," Arthur said with an exasperated sigh and waved his hand. "Very well. Send out a messenger. Have him express my _deepest_ gratitude."

"Already done," said Merlin, too busy heaving the statue in the right direction to notice the sarcasm in the King's tone.

"Good," said Arthur shortly. "Good to know you're sitting on your backside all day."

Merlin let this slide, as he usually did with Arthur's insults. "She meant it as a wedding present," he said instead, getting back on topic.

Arthur crinkled his nose and furrowed his brow. "The wedding was months ago," he pointed out, watching as Merlin struggled to drag the statue but making no attempt to aid him.

"Well," Merlin grunted, "There are half a dozen of them; they must have taken some time to make. Ah!" He stood up straight, having placed the statue in its new home, and put his hands on his hips and smiled at his handy work. Taking the time to soak in the statue, he realized it really was quite hideous. It was clearly made of some kind of large gray stone found in the forest, and carved to resemble an angel, her hands covering her eyes in sadness. _Hardly a gift for a happy occasion_, Merlin thought. Along with this one, came five others, all identical to the next.

"Half a dozen? How did they even get them here from Annis' kingdom?" Merlin heard Arthur say from behind him, and when he turned around he saw the King had taken a seat on his throne.

"They arrived this morning. It took about twenty of the Queen's maids to carry them here by wheelbarrow," the servant said, but quickly realized that Arthur wasn't paying him the least bit of attention. His eyes were fixed on the doorway, and Merlin quickly turned his head over his shoulder to follow Arthur's gaze. Outside the opened doorway of the grand entrance, Merlin noticed a small woman in a clean white servant's dress; her fair skin appeared almost as pale and sickly as her attire. She wore on her head a knitted hair band of the same white. In fact, the only bit of color on the woman was her striking blue eyes. She stood unmoving in the entrance, and the guards posted at the doorway just feet away from her didn't even seem to register her presence. Slowly, she turned away and continued down the great corridor, silent as a ghost.

"Speaking of the Queen's maids," Merlin muttered under his breath.

"At least the statues aren't the only things that make my skin crawl," Arthur said, the expression of distaste forming on his face once more. "I know I've given them my hospitality for as long as need be, but for exactly _how_ long are planning on staying?"

"Just for a few days, Arthur." Merlin turned his head towards the King again. "They've insisted on staying until the Queen comes back. Something about getting her approval of the statues."

Arthur groaned. "If only Guinevere and Elyan hadn't ridden out to their mother's burial site . . ."

"Missing her already?" Merlin teased, a playful smile forming on his face, but it quickly fell away as he saw Arthur drumming irritably on the arm of his throne. "Oh, the grave is only in one of the outlying villages. She should be home in a few days' time. Don't look so worried; you've sent all your best men to look after her."

"Don't you have some polishing to do?" Arthur snapped impatiently.

Merlin dropped his shoulders in defeat and turned to exit the throne room without another word. He should have known better than to pry. Arthur was never one to talk about his feelings, and Merlin assumed his worry for Gwen would be no different. Still, it was times like these that the gap in Merlin and Arthur's relationship was most evident. Each time Merlin tried to get close to the King, he would be yelled at or ordered to do another mindless chore. For two people whose so-called destines were so intertwined, Merlin sometimes wished things had been different; that the two could be equals instead of servant and master.

That they could be friends.

"Wait, Merlin," Arthur said, his voice softer than before. Merlin stopped walking and spun around, his eyes meeting Arthur's and holding his gaze for some time. For a moment, Merlin allowed himself to hope that Arthur was about to open up.

"Does that _thing_ have to stay in here?" Arthur said at last, the softness out of his voice once more, as he pointed a gloved finger toward the statue.

Merlin let out a sigh and thought, _I don't know what I expected_.

"Where would you like me to put it, sire?"

Arthur shrugged and shook his head impatiently. "I don't know! The courtyard."

"There are already two in the courtyard," Merlin informed him, trying not to let his agitation show in his voice.

"Anywhere, then! Just get it out of here." Arthur made no attempted to mask his own frustration.

"Alright, then." Merlin walked towards the statue, pressed his lean body up against it, and wrapped his arms around it, trying to get it to budge. "I'll just . . . put it in your chambers."

"_Merlin_!"

Before either of them could say another word, a guard rushed through the doors, passed the ones posted outside, and hurriedly kneeled before the king.

"Sire," said the guard, breathlessly. There was enough panic in his voice to catch Merlin's attention. "A matter has arisen that requires your immediate attention."

"What is it?" Arthur asked, standing up from his throne and pulling off his long red cape. There was an edge in his voice that hadn't been there before; it was the voice of a leader.

"Sire, a man has been arrested in the lower town," the guard explained.

"For what?"

"He appeared in a woman's hut, my lord. She says he came out of thin air," the guard went on.

From across the room, Merlin had to swallow his panic. His eyes shot over to Arthur, who wore a mixed look of anger and memory on his face; that look hit Merlin like a ton of bricks.

The guard finished, "He's suspected of practicing magic."

* * *

Merlin trailed after Arthur, careful to stay a few steps in front of the dozen or so guards that followed them. When they reached the courtyard, Arthur hustled halfway down the elaborate marble steps; Merlin and the guards stayed a few steps behind him out of respect. Looking out into the square, Merlin saw a crowd had formed near the edges of the houses, each commoner trying to get a good look at what was going on but not daring to get too close to the slew of armored guards that now stood before their King. With them, they had in chains the largest man Merlin had ever seen—even larger and more muscular than Percival—in very strange clothes.

"Sire," one of the guards that had escorted the prisoner stepped forward, genuflected, and rose once Arthur gestured him to do so. "We've captured this man in the lower town for the forbidden use of magic."

Merlin looked at Arthur out of the corner of his eye, trying to gage his reaction, but couldn't get a good enough look. Then his eyes rested back on the large man; Merlin could see the panic and confusion in his eyes as he gave a hard swallow.

"I've been told a woman witnessed this," Arthur said, his powerful voice echoing across the courtyard. "Where is she?"

The guards parted and a small, brown haired peasant woman came to the front. "It was I, my lord," she said in a low tone, her eyes at her feet.

"Do you have any proof of this?"

The woman looked up. "Yes, sire," she said. "I was tending to my crops when he appeared from nowhere. He fell backward and broke my fencing. Half the animals ran loose in panic!"

Arthur looked towards the guards for confirmation. "It's true, sire," the one said.

Merlin heard Arthur let out a heavy sigh before turning to the prisoner and saying, "What is your name?"

"Me? Uh—" the man started, standing a little taller and blinking wildly as the looked at the King. "Sam. Sam Winchester."

"Sam Winchester, you are aware that the use of magic is forbidden by law, under the penalty of death?" Arthur said sternly. Merlin had heard these words hundreds of times, but they still made his stomach churn.

"_What_? No," Sam said, the panic in his voice rising. He let out a nervous chuckle. "To be honest, I don't even really know where I _am_."

Arthur shifted around slightly and gave a pause, no doubt wondering how a man could be in Camelot and not know it. "You're in the city of Camelot," he said patiently, regardless.

For a moment, Sam looked stunned. "What," he said, pushing his head forward, his mouth ajar.

"Do you confess to these crimes?" Arthur asked, his tone suggesting he already knew the answer.

Sam stammered, trying to regain his composure. "No, listen—"

"Very well," Arthur interrupted with a wave of his hand, uninterested in anything else the man had to say. "Take him to the dungeons."

Merlin's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. Surely a broken fence and some escaped pigs weren't enough to condemn a man to death. "Arthur—" he began, trying to reason with the King when no one else would.

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur snapped, hardly turning his head.

In the meantime, the guards once again advanced on the man, and he attempted to struggle against them. "Wait! You don't understand," Sam tried calling over the cheers and jeers coming from the crowd. It took five guards to restrain him, two with their arms wrapped under his, as they bullied him towards the castle's dungeons.

Merlin watched the struggle until it was out of sight, then turned his eyes to Arthur, who had his jaw clenched tightly and his eyes averted to the cobblestones.

* * *

Arthur seemed particularly more irritable than usual for the rest of the day, and Merlin tried his hardest to keep all his thoughts to himself. In order to not slip up, he had taken to total silence. As he made up the King's bed and fetched his dinner, an innocent man was rotting in jail, awaiting his death. Perhaps he did have magic, perhaps not; either way, he was innocent in Merlin's eyes. By the time he slammed Arthur's plate of roasted chicken down in front of him, Merlin had decided that he must break the man out of jail. How? He did not know, but he was sure a simple talk with Gaius would help him come up with a plan.

"Is something the matter, Merlin?" Arthur said, wiping off the pieces of mashed potatoes that flew onto his shirt when Merlin had slammed the plate down.

"With me? No," Merlin responded curtly, busying himself with drawing the curtains. "I'm not the one in the dungeons." He would probably regret saying this later, but he couldn't contain his thoughts any longer.

Arthur gave a sigh and tossed his napkin on his plate of untouched food. "He's guilty of using _magic_, Merlin," Arthur said heavily.

Merlin spun around to face him. "He's guilty of breaking a _fence_, at the very least," he retorted, a bite in his tone.

"If I had set him free in front of half the city, the people would see me as unfit to be their king. Worse, it would be as good as _granting_ sorcerers permission to use magic to overthrow Camelot," Arthur tried as an excuse. "People would live in a constant state of fear."

"You're wrong," Merlin said. "The people would see you as merciful. Those who practice magic in other lands would respect you. That man didn't even know where he was."

"I can't go against the law for one man—"

"You're the _King_! You have the power to _change _the law!"

"I don't expect you to understand," Arthur said, getting up from the table and walking towards his servant. He no longer looked angry, just tired. "I've seen the evils of magic. It's ruined my family, killed my parents, taken Morgana over . . ." Arthur swallowed hard and broke eye contact. At that moment, Merlin realized that he didn't want to send the man to death; Merlin even thought for a second that Arthur didn't fully believe his own words. "I've got to protect the kingdom from it," Arthur went on. "For my people, for the future of my family. I cannot take any risks."

Merlin licked his lips and bent his neck, trying to regain eye contact with Arthur. "Even if those risks could lead to peace?" he said softly, knowing it would be in vain.

Arthur looked back at the food on the table. "Take the food to the kitchen and go back to your chambers, Merlin," he changed the subject. Then, he disappeared behind the changing screen.

Merlin sighed and rolled his head back to look at the ceiling, the familiar sensation of dejection pulling at his heartstrings.

Arthur had given him no choice: he had to free Sam Winchester himself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five.**

Sam heaved at the bars on the window, making loose bits of stone tumble down the wall and onto the dirt floor. He'd been working at tearing them off for at least fifteen minutes now, but he knew that even if he _did _manage to free the bars, the window was probably too small for him to squeeze through. He just thought it was worth a shot. After all, it was his only option. He didn't have anything to pick the lock on the main cell bars; anything that would work, he'd left back in 2012. He didn't even have his rifle.

He gave a loud grunt and his hands slipped off the bars, making him stumble backwards and crash down on the ground. "Great," he muttered and stared up at the bright moon through the window, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his sleeves.

"Okay, Sam," he thought aloud in a whisper. "_Think_."

He was in Camelot, that much he knew. He didn't believe it, but he was there anyway. Under any other circumstance, he would have been overjoyed. Like everyone in pretty much the whole world, Sam had heard dozens of stories of King Arthur and the Knights of Camelot. He even remembered Jess taking a full course on the myths back at Stanford. If only he had paid more attention to them; but who could blame him? He never in a million years thought they were true. In fact, he was pretty sure every historian and scholar had disproved the legends.

_Well, those are the same guys who say there's no such thing as werewolves_, he thought.

"Camelot," he muttered, giving a soft shrug. "I'm gonna die in Camelot." If he didn't think fast, he'd be dead by the morning. The small window in his cell gave him the perfect view of the town center, where the servants had set up a stake just for him. Maybe it was time for Plan B, which involved getting the guards' attention, knocking them out, and then making a run for it. It was destined to fail, but Sam was banking on the fact that his luck couldn't possibly get any worse.

He brought himself to his feet and walked over to the cell door, wrapping his hands around the bars and poking his nose through to the other side. "Hey!" he shouted, trying to attract the attention of the guards. He listened out, but didn't hear anyone. "Hey! Can I get some water?" Again, no one answered.

Suddenly, the heavy wooden door at the end of the hall swung open, and Sam prepared himself to pounce; but, instead of a guard, a small, slender man with raven black hair and a red scarf tied around his neck came into view. Sam thought he recognized him as the man who was standing next to the King at his makeshift trial.

"Shh! Are you trying to get us both killed?" he hissed when he got to the cell. He looked around to make sure no one was there, reached into his pocket, and produced a metal key. Sam looked at it with hopeful eyes. He wanted to kiss Merlin, but this was all too good to be true.

"Wait! Don't you work for the King?" he said, reality hitting him like a ton of bricks. Was this man sent to take Sam to his death now? Was he out of time already?

"I'm his servant," Merlin said, an echo of pride in his words, pushed the key into the lock and opened the cell door. Sam eyed him unsurely. "Are you coming or not?" Merlin said hastily. "I've distracted the guards, but they'll be back any minute. We've got to get you out of here."

Sam wasn't about the question his luck. "Sounds good to me," he said, and followed Merlin out of the cell and down the corridor, in the opposite direction from where Merlin came. After a minute or two of walking in darkness, they reached a small grate, through which the moonlight was pouring into.

"Stand back," Merlin advised, and held up his hand to the grate. Sam knitted his eyebrows together in confusion for a second, before he heard Merlin say, "_Tospringe_." The sides of the grate sparked and it fell to the grass below. Merlin turned to Sam and shrugged innocently.

Sam looked back at him with an amazed smile. "Now I get it," he said, and slapped Merlin on the shoulder. "You're secret's safe with me."

In the distance, a loud bell began to echo through the city. Merlin looked up in panic. "Neither of us is safe unless we get out of here soon," he said, and took off toward the forest. Sam followed close behind.

* * *

Sam was led to a small hut in a clearing in the middle of the forest. He could no longer hear the warning bell echoing in the wind, and the silhouette of Camelot was barely visible in the distance. Sam's feet ached from running so fast for so long, but he was relieved to be out of harm's way. Admittedly, he was partly depressed that he wasn't able to knock two coconuts together on the way out of the city.

He sat down heavily on one of the flimsy chairs next to the rotting wooden table and felt it creak under his weight. Clearly, this hut hadn't been used to for a long time, but Merlin seemed to know exactly where he was going on their way there.

"So, uh," Sam started, watching as his new friend lit up the fire pit in the middle of the room with magic and closed the curtains for good measure, then sat down in the chair across from Sam. "Thanks."

"Well, I couldn't just sit back and let an innocent man die," he said in return. Sam could see how unsettled the man was. His eyes were averted to the table as he picked at its loose splinters with his long, slender fingers. "You should be safe here," he went on. "The guards will never come this far out—they'll assume you headed for the caves and got yourself eaten by a wildren."

There was a pause, and then Sam leaned forward and said, "Hey, what's with the whole condemning sorcerers to death thing, anyway? I mean, I thought Camelot was supposed to be all gung-ho with magic." He had a smirk on his face, now that he was home free—well, or at least free from prison—and able to enjoy the wonder of his surroundings.

Merlin snorted a laugh. "I _wish_. It would certainly make my life a lot easier."

"Yeah, but . . . _King Arthur_! He's impossible," Sam exclaimed, sitting back at running a hand through his hair. "I mean, that's crazy, ya know?" He stammered, "Well, I guess you _don't_ know, 'cause you're his servant and all. This is just a normal day for you."

"No, believe me, I know how impossible Arthur can be," Merlin laughed, shaking his head softly.

Sam laughed, too. "I'm just waiting for some old guy with a long beard to come outta the forest and tell me he's Merlin."

Sam saw the other man stop laughing and give a puzzled look.

"Well, that certainly would be a trick. _I'm _Merlin," he said, now looking at Sam suspiciously.

Sam was awestricken again, like he had been in the courtyard when he'd first learned where—and when—he was.

"Who are you?" Merlin asked, as though he was seeing Sam for the first time. "Why are you dressed like that? How did you not know you were in Camelot?"

The smile fell from Sam's face and he sighed. "It's a long story," he admitted. "I'm not really—from _around _here. And, where I come from, none of this even exists. It's all just a myth." He seemed to be thinking aloud rather than speaking to Merlin now. "But I have to get back. Dean—my brother—he'll be looking for me by now . . . and I can't leave him there alone."

He took out his phone from his pocket and lit up the home screen. "No service," he said, flipping the phone over in his hand. "I kinda figured."

"What is that?" Merlin asked, trying to get a better look at it from across the table.

"Nothing," Sam said coolly, shoving the phone back into his pocket. "It won't help get me back, anyway." He stood up from his chair and began pacing. "And it's not like I can tap my ruby shoes together and say _there's no place like home_, either."

"What?"

Sam had to remind himself that there was, in fact, a time when that movie didn't exist, and he was in it. He stopped pacing and blew out his cheeks. "Never mind." He sat back down, feeling as hopeless and deflated as he did when he was stuck in that cell.

"You talk like no one I've ever met before," Merlin said, still eyeing Sam up and down, but now in a fascinated way. "I just can't figure it out. You're not from any of the five kingdoms. You don't even look like you come from this world."

Sam half-laughed, half-scoffed. _I bet he's not the first to say that about Americans_, he thought, and then said, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. But I gotta get back there. There's somethin' I gotta do, and my brother can't do it without me."

Merlin looked down and nodded gently, almost as though he knew exactly what Sam was saying. "If that's true, then you'll get back to him," he said.

"How d'you know?"

Merlin shrugged. "Because he needs you."

"You mean like King Arthur needs you?" Merlin's eyes shot up to Sam's at these words. "To change his mind about magic?" It was a guess, but judging by the look on Merlin's face, it was a good one.

Merlin nodded slowly. "It's my destiny."

Sam smiled bitterly and this and nodded his head. "Yeah, trust me, kid, destiny isn't all it's cracked up to be." Merlin looked hurt by this, but then his face twisted into a smirk.

"Well, Arthur _is_ a total dollop head," he said with a laugh. "He won't give me a _moment's_ peace." He tapped his index finger on the tabletop pointedly, but the smile was still on his face and in his voice. Sam couldn't help but chuckle along; the man's laugh was infectious. "It's always, 'Merlin, do this. Merlin, do that.' Even today, he's had me lugging about the new statues he's received _as a gift_ because he can't stand looking at them. Not that I blame him; I don't understand why anyone would waste their time carving six statues of crying angels—"

Sam's face fell and his eyes went wide. "What did you just say?"

Merlin pulled a face and shook his head. "How Arthur doesn't do a thing for himself?"

"No! The—the thing about the statues! Crying angels?" He gestured with both his hands. "_Weeping_ angels?"

"I don't see how—"

Sam wasn't listening anymore; his mind was too busy reeling. He stood up and began to pace again, hardly aware of how attentively Merlin was watching him.

_Weeping Angels here, and Weeping Angels in Oregon,_ he thought. _That has to mean something._

He _had _to get through to Dean, but how could he send a message that would last over fifteen centuries? Then an idea struck him: _the same way anything from the past gets to the future._

Sam spun around on his heels to face Merlin. "I need to get a message to my brother," he told him. "And I'm gonna need your help."

* * *

"What d'you mean, 'he's lost?'" Dean barked, not allowing his worry to show in his voice. Anger; he'd get angry instead. "He can't just be _lost_. He's got a _job_ to do."

"Maybe a name is too broad," Rory spoke up. "Maybe—maybe you need something more specific."

"Specific? Like a codeword?" John suggested.

"A codeword! You two should really make a codeword," said Amy.

"We have one." Dean looked back at her, his anger subsiding. "It's _funky town_." She raised an eyebrow playfully and folded her arms across her chest. Dean looked down, embarrassed, and forced an unconvincing smirk onto his face. "Sam's idea," he lied sheepishly. She didn't seem to buy it.

"No, but he's right," Dean said. "Sam would try to leave me a message. He wouldn't just give up. He's smarter than that." He began pacing again, and ran his hand down his mouth as he thought aloud. "I mean, the guy went to Stanford before I pulled him out and brought him back into the life—" Dean stopped, and he looked as though he just hand a moment of revelation. "Sonovabitch," he muttered loudly.

"What?" Rory nudged.

Dean ignored him and spun around to face the Doctor. "Scan for the—the Women in White. It's an urban legend. It was the first hunt me and Sam went on when he left college."

"Women in White," the Doctor repeated, and punched it into the console. This search took a considerable less amount of time. "Ah-ha! Women in white, there are a few results here, mostly from blogs and ghost stories and things." The Doctor pulled a face. "It always come back to ghost stories with you lot. You can't even see what's right under your noses—"

"Doc!" Dean interrupted. "What does it say?"

"Right!" the Doctor said, getting back on track. "Well, there are few references to the 1930's, mostly in American folklore. It _seems_ that the oldest known reference was dated back to the late fifth century, where the words _Women in White _were carved into a boulder on top of a waterfall in England. It's an old tale from the days of King Arthur—"

"What?" Dean interrupted, rushing towards the monitor and looking at it, even though he couldn't make heads or tails of the language. He remembered Sam saying something about an Arthurian legend back in Oregon. That couldn't just be a coincidence, could it? "That's it," Dean said, deciding to trust his gut. It had gotten him this far, after all.

"You're sure?" the Doctor asked.

There was a beat, and then Dean said unsurely, "Yes." And then, "What else does it say?"

The Doctor pulled up an image of the rock, which was apparently in some space museum that Dean couldn't pronounce the name of, on the monitor. Thankfully, the words carved in the boulder were plain English. It read: _D_ _Women in White 8/24/463_ _S_.

Dean blinked a few times at the image. The rock and the letters engraved on it were huge, and if it were on a waterfall like the Doctor had said, it was probably high up. He knew Sam was tall, but that was pushing it. Still, the message was from Sam—clear as day. Not for the first time, Dean was glad he and his brother knew each other better than anything else. Sam knew Dean would figure out his message; it was unique to them. They were always on the same wavelength, even though they were thousands of years apart.

"Well, there you go," he said, not wanting to waste any more time. However Sam got the message in the rock, Dean was sure Sam could explain it later. "Four-sixty-three it is."

"Back to medieval times," the Doctor said gleefully. "Judging by the information given about the boulder, I _should_ be able to land the Tardis right around the area it was found." He started toward the other controls. However, before he could get very far, Rory cut in.

"No, wait, hold on," he said. "There are Angels in America _now_. Shouldn't we be taking care of them first?"

The Doctor waved away the question. "Oh, don't worry about that. I've put my best man on it." His eyes fell on John for a moment, and then he said to him, "Are you coming, Dr. Watson?"

John appeared to be thinking, and then finally he said, "No," but his eyes were pleading with someone to change his mind. "No, sorry, I can't."

"Why not?" The Doctor tried not to look hurt.

"I've already told you," John said quickly, and there was a bite to his tone. "I'm trying to move on with my life. And Mrs. Hudson is trying to rent this place out to new people, and I've got to get all the boxes out. I can't—I can't be pulled into this every time you land in my flat."

"Your _old _flat," the Doctor pointed out.

John sighed. "No," he said again, exasperated. "I can't keep pretending . . ."

The Doctor walked up to him, a grave look in his eyes, and Dean wondered if he really was as young as he looked. "Have you ever thought you could bring him back?" the Doctor said softly, half nodding back to the console. "You've had my number in your mobile all this time. Were you ever tempted to go back to that day? To save him?"

John looked the Doctor in the eye, a look that told the Doctor everything he needed to know. "Doctor, I'm not going to pretend I know how any of this works," John said. "But I know what you would say, and I know what he would say: there would be consequences. Wouldn't there?"

The Doctor eyed him for a long moment. "_Yeah_," he dragged the word out, then said quickly, "But you could have least _asked_."

John looked past the Doctor, to Amy and Rory and then to Dean, and nodded his goodbye. Then he looked back at the Doctor and nodded again. "Doctor," he said.

"Doctor," the Doctor said back, and they all watched as John exited the Tardis.

When the door creaked closed behind John, Dean clapped his hands, trying to bring everyone back into the moment. "Alright, let's put 'er in warp drive!"

The others looked at Dean with bemused faces, and Dean's grin fell. "I always wanted to say that," he admitted lamely.

* * *

John stepped back into 221B and looked around. He heard the metallic clang of the Tardis as it disappeared into oblivion, but didn't bother to look behind him to watch it go.

"What's all that noise up here?" Mrs. Hudson called, popping her head into the room just as the noise subsided. "Honestly, I'd have thought there would be a little peace and quite 'round here with Sherlock gone and all." She said this airily, with a dismissive wave, as though Sherlock had just gone abroad for a few days and would be back any time now.

John let out a soft laugh, and, to his own surprise, it was genuine.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six.**

Dean fell through the doors, trying to stop his legs from wobbling beneath him, and blinked rapidly in the sunlight. "Ugh, man, there's a reason I drive everywhere," he groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose and shook the vertigo out of his head.

"Bit too bumpy for you, sunshine?" Amy teased. She, the Doctor, and Rory had followed Dean out of the Tardis and into the white stone courtyard. To their left was a grand staircase leading up to a castle; large marble and stone buildings surrounded the rest of the courtyard. The Tardis had parked itself in a nook between two buildings, shadowed just enough to hide her magnificent blue amongst all the white.

"Definitely medieval," the Doctor was saying. He stuck a finger into his mouth and held it up to the breeze. "Ah, yes. It's the twenty-fifth of August, four-sixty-three."

Dean looked at him in disbelief. "You can tell the year by the wind?" he gaped.

"Nah, I looked at the date on the Tardis readings before I followed you out," he said. "I just wanted to know if I should go back inside for a heavier coat."

"Doctor," Amy interrupted them. She was standing deadly still, her eyes wide with terror, as she stared across the courtyard.

"Uh," Rory was stuttering, taking a few steps back as he stared at another tall Weeping Angel just feet away from where the Tardis had landed. The Doctor followed his gaze and Dean followed Amy's.

"So, I'm guessing these are the Weeping Angels," Dean muttered, automatically preparing himself to either run or fight.

"Be very still," the Doctor warned. "Don't take your eyes off of them." Carefully, he walked past Rory and approached the nearest Angel, his sonic screwdriver in hand. He flashed the green tip over the length of the statue, looked at its readings, and then eyed the statue once more. "It's alright," he said after a moment. "There's no harm. It's just a statue."

"Just a statue? How can it be just a statue?" Amy still hadn't taken her eyes off of it.

Meanwhile, the Doctor got closer to the Angel and knocked hard on its stone forehead. "Just stone. Try blinking if you don't believe me."

Amy and Dean both paused unsurely, but then Amy turned away. "I believe you," she said. Dean, hoping his luck would hold, turned back to the Doctor and nodded in agreement. However, the Doctor wasn't paying them any attention; he was too busy inspecting the statue.

"But they look just like them," Rory said, still unsure but ready to believe. "Do you think they were modeled after the Weeping Angels somehow?"

"Or the Weeping Angels were modeled after them . . ." the Doctor said softly, but then turned to the others and curved his lips into a smile.

Before anyone could ask him what he meant, the doors on top of the marble staircase opened heavily, and Merlin came out into the sunshine, his shoulders lowered in exhaustion and his eyes averted to the stones beneath him as he rushed down the stairs. When he looked up, Dean immediately locked eyes with him, and he stopped short.

There was a pause, and then he turned to the Doctor, who was kneeling down next to the statue. "Is there something I can help you with?" he called out uncertainly.

The Doctor hopped up to his feet and strode over to him. "Yes, these statues," he started, his voice now commanding. "How long have they been here?"

"These two?" Merlin scoffed. "A bit over a day, but not for much longer. The _King _has ordered me to find them a different location." Dean detected a bit of agitation in the man's voice.

"Good, I think I can help you with that," he heard the Doctor say. "These statues are imperfect. Hardly fit for any King. I need to take them back to my workplace to inspect them further." He reached into his pocket and whipped out a small, black leather ID case. He held it up to Merlin's eyes. "As you can see, I'm the royally sanctioned city planner. Why haven't I been told about these new pieces?"

Merlin eyed the psychic paper, and looked at the Doctor with confused eyes. "It's blank," he said, pulling a face and shrugging a shoulder.

"It's what?" the Doctor stuttered, turning the psychic paper back on himself. "No, it's not—it's—it's—"

Merlin's eyes fell back to Dean, then moved to Amy and Rory. A small grin formed on his face. "You're friends of Sam's, aren't you?"

"Sam?" Dean cut in. He put himself between the Doctor and Merlin. "You know Sam? Where is he?"

Merlin nodded. "He's safe. He's outside the city," he told Dean. "I can take you to him, if you'd like."

"Uh, yeah!" Dean said, nodding furiously. "I'd like."

Merlin squinted as he looked over his shoulder at the castle, and finally set his attention on the statue behind the Doctor's back. "Alright," he said, grinning once more. "But first, I could use some help moving these statues." Before he got an answer, he passed Dean and started toward the statue.

Dean's mouth fell open as he twisted his body around to look at Merlin.

* * *

Sam flipped the battered old pages of the leather bound book eagerly. There wasn't much he could do while waiting for Dean to show up, so the reading material Merlin had given him in the meantime was greatly welcomed; he just hoped Dean didn't take too long. The book was about the formation of Camelot and the reigns of its past kings. It was a whole side of history that had become completely lost in the hustle and bustle of modern life, and Sam wondered again if this was all just some crazy dream. Although, he expected that, if it were a dream, the food would actually be edible and he wouldn't have to sleep on the dirt floor.

Just as he had turned another delicate page, the splintered wooden door of the hut creaked open. Sam's stomach lurched and his eyes shot over to the door, where he saw Merlin enter. His hands were up in mock surrender, having seen the panic on Sam's face.

"It's alright," he said, smiling playfully. "Just me."

Sam relaxed. "No more Knights of Camelot trying and kill me?" Sam half-joked back.

"Well, not exactly."

Before Sam could pull a confused face, four more people ducked through the door of the stone hut: two men, a redheaded woman, and—

"Dean!" Sam sprung to his feet as his brother rushed to his side. Dean cupped his palm over Sam's shoulder and inspected his face for any visible—and invisible—wounds, his jaw set with worry.

"You all right?" he finally asked.

"Yeah, fine," Sam responded.

"Good." Dean patted Sam on the shoulder and released him. "Then how about next time, you don't let a statue get the jump on you."

Sam rolled his eyes, but he knew Dean meant well. He looked past Dean to the other newcomers. "Uh, Dean," he said, smiling a little uncomfortably as the three others looked at him. "I was expecting Cas. Who—"

"Cas can't come to phone right now," Dean said, his eyes searching the small hut. "This is the Doctor, Amy, and Rory. The Doc's the one who found you. He gave me a lift to—uh—"

"Camelot," Sam informed him incredulously.

"Camelot?" the Doctor repeated, nearly jumping out of his skin.

"Did he—did he just say Camelot?" Amy asked the Doctor, pointing a slender finger at Sam.

"I thought that was just a kid's story," Rory interjected.

"No, just another lost piece of human history." The Doctor was beaming. "Camelot. Well, that's _new_."

"Yeah, but how did you find me?" Sam asked, turning again to Dean. "I mean, how did you get here."

Dean sat down on the side of the table and pointed at the Doctor. "Like I said, he gave me a lift," he explained. "He's got this—this _time machine_. You gotta see this thing, Sammy. Dude's got Vegas packed in a tool shed." Sam looked at the Doctor, who smiled in return, like he didn't believe he even existed. It took a lot to surprise Sam lately, but a _time machine_? "And then this guy said he knew where to find you," Dean went on, nodding to Merlin, who was busying himself with cleaning the metal plate Sam had eaten off of in a bucket. He looked up interestedly when he heard himself mentioned.

"Yeah, this is—this is _Merlin_," Sam told them, and everyone in the room turned to gawk at him. Amy couldn't contain an excited yelp, and it made Merlin jump uneasily. Sam could tell that Merlin had been listening to the entire conversation from the sidelines, and he couldn't imagine any of this information was easy for a man from the fifth century to handle. _Hell, it's hard for _me_ to swallow_, Sam thought to himself. He decided to ask Merlin a question he could handle.

"How'd you know this was my brother?"

Merlin looked back down at the plate and started scrubbing again, even though it was squeaky clean. Sam saw how uncomfortable the man felt under everyone's glances.

_Why wouldn't he be?_ Sam thought to himself. _He's used to being a servant, not the center of attention._ Sam could sympathize with him.

"Well, it wasn't hard," Merlin said with a shrug. "I mean, there aren't many people in Camelot dressed like _that_." He added in a softer tone, "Like they're from the future."

Everyone's eyes turned accusingly on Sam at this. Sam pulled an apologetic face. "Sorry," he said. "He kinda knows everything. I had to tell him. We—we had a deal: he puts the message for you on the rock, I start giving some answers."

"I wasn't expecting _those _answers," Merlin muttered audibly.

"Yeah, well, just so we're clear," Dean said, standing up and facing Merlin. "_These_—" he motioned to his, Sam's, Amy's, and Rory's clothes— "are future clothes. That—" he pointed to the Doctor, licked his lips, and shook his head— "I don't even know."

"Bowties are cool," the Doctor retorted, in a voice that suggested he's said this a hundred times before in a long battle to convince the world that he was right, and that sentence was his only line of defense.

Sam saw Merlin shake his head, almost as though he had a headache, and move to exit the hut. "You need more firewood," he muttered on his way out. Sam watched him go with empathetic eyes. _Poor kid_, he thought. _And I thought I was having a tough time dealing with time travel._

"Yeah, but, Dean, we have a problem," Sam said, trying to get back on track, once he was sure Merlin was gone. "That thing that sent me back here—the Weeping Angel—there are more of them, here in Camelot."

"We know," the Doctor answered instead of Dean, as he took a seat at the table. Amy placed herself behind him. "And they're not Weeping Angels, they're just statues made to look like Weeping Angels."

"Okay," Sam said unsurely. "But, still, that's a problem. I mean, why make them? Who did it?"

"No one." The Doctor seemed so sure of himself. "There are only so many patterns in the universe. An idea can be copied and transmitted through the stars." He waved the idea away. "I've checked the statues, over and over again. They're perfectly normal."

"How do _you_ know?" Sam said, agitation in his tone. He was convinced there was more going on, and it didn't help that this Doctor—whoever he was—was being so pompous.

"He knows, alright?" Amy cut in, in defense. "If the Doctor was wrong, we'd be dead."

Sam was still unconvinced. He looked back at Dean for confirmation, but his brother just stared back, almost as uncertain as he was.

"Alright, well, forgot about that for right now," Dean said, and stood up. "We have another problem to deal with." He pointed towards the closed door. "The kid."

"Merlin?" Sam wondered.

"He's a witch, Sam. Or a sorcerer—I dunno, whatever they call 'em here."

"Yeah. _So_?"

"So? Sam, how many _good_ witches have we met? _None_," Dean looked to others to back him up. "Am I right? Nothing good ever comes from spells and spewing bodily fluids everywhere. For one thing, it's unsanitary, but that's the least of my worries. I don't wanna be turned into a newt."

"Dean, he's _Merlin_," Sam argued. "The one from the stories, remember? The one who _helped _people?"

"Yeah, _stories_, Sam. How do we know they're the real thing? You can't tell me that kid hasn't killed people; you can see it on his face."

"You're both talking like there's even such thing as magic," Rory said from his place against the wall. He tilted his head to Amy and the Doctor. "We've been around a bit, enough to know that whenever people think it's magic, it's usually some alien or monster or—"

"Vampire fish from space," Amy offered.

Rory nodded in agreement. "Exactly. Vampire fish from space."

Dean scoffed at this. "Well, _we've_ been around enough to tell you to shut the hell up."

"Yeah, but there's got to be some kind of explanation," Amy said. She looked down at the Doctor, who had been silently taking in the conversation. "Right, Doctor? There's no such thing as _magic_. Not _really_."

"No," the Doctor agreed. "Not really. It's just a different kind of science. You use maths and physics; other races use words. They touch down on Earth; the human race picks up on a thing or two. You remember the Carrionites." Amy opened her mouth to say she didn't, but the Doctor waved it away before she got the chance. "No, you don't. That was Martha. Still, it's the same principle."

"Whatever it is," Dean broke in. "What are we gonna do with him?"

Sam had just about enough of this. "We're not gonna do _anything_, Dean," he boomed, pointing towards the door as though Merlin were standing right there. "But we _have_ to do something about the Weeping Angels."

"There are _no_ Weeping Angels," the Doctor promised. "There's no threat."

* * *

Merlin straightened out and slapped another stick on top of the pile he was carrying in his other arm. He could hear muffled shouts from the hut a few kilometers away but tried to tune them out. The others seemed to be arguing about something, and Merlin wished they would just leave; but he knew he couldn't allow them to go so soon. He needed their help. He and Gaius had been up half the night trying to find any mention of the Weeping Angels in Gaius' book collection. Merlin had even given Sam a book to help in their efforts, just to see if he turned anything up. If he had, he said nothing. What's more, Merlin and Gaius had found nothing on these creatures, and Merlin was starting to believe Sam was making this up.

"Time travel," he muttered aloud. "It's not possible." Through the trees, he could see the castle, made tiny in the distance, and hardened his jaw in thought. How could the others not know Camelot existed? Did that mean everything he was trying to achieve—his destiny—meant nothing after all?

A sound of rustling leaves behind him distracted Merlin from his thoughts. He dropped the firewood he had been collecting and spun around the face the noise. "Who's there?" he called, but heard nothing in return.

For a moment, all was still, until a great black horse came hurtling through the brush, its rider lolling to the side of the saddle. The horse swerved passed Merlin to avoid him, and the rider fell off, landing heavily at Merlin's feet; and the great animal disappeared into the trees, headed towards Camelot.

Merlin hurriedly bent down and rolled the rider over on his back. He noticed him as the messenger he'd sent out to Queen Annis. Quickly, he looked the messenger over, searching for any visible wounds that might account for his state, but found none. The man appeared to be dead. Then, suddenly, he began to cough, blood flying from his lips, and looked up desperately at Merlin.

"The maids," he struggled to say.

Merlin gaped at him, shaking his head. "What maids?"

"The Queen—" He broke into another coughing fit. "The Queen did not send the st—statues. The maids—the maids were in the forest. One touched me. Only a touch. They were so _fast_, and—" The messenger's eyes rolled to the back of his head.

Merlin was in a panic, his eyes wide. "What!" He tried shaking the man awake.

"You must warn the King." The man took in another exhale, and Merlin watched him go still.

From the brush, Merlin heard another rustle of leaves. He quickly looked up in the direction of the sound, but all he saw was a flash of white, and the forest fell silent again.

* * *

Merlin burst through the door of the hut and slid to a halt. He was breathing heavily. "The messenger is dead," he told the others quickly, barely stopping to take a breath beforehand.

Everyone fell silent, except for Sam, who turned to Merlin with a mixture of concern and compassion on his face. In a passing thought, Merlin really wished Sam would stop treating him like he was a child. "Slow down," he told him. "What messenger?"

Merlin didn't slow down. He explained to them what had happened in the forest, and what the messenger had told him about the maids that were now in Camelot—and about the statues.

Sam took his eyes off Merlin and glared at the Doctor. "What were you saying?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven.**

"I've got to tell Arthur. There isn't any time," Merlin huffed, and turned toward the door again, but Dean grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him back around.

"Kid, you gotta _make_ time," he demanded. "Because, trust me, you got no idea what's going on here."

Merlin shook Dean's hand off his shoulder. "I know better than you do," he argued in a near shout. "_You _didn't even know of Camelot until Sam told you that you were here. Why _should_ I trust you?"

"Whoa, alright, let's just all calm down," Sam said politically, placing himself between his brother and Merlin and looking at Merlin square in the eyes. "We don't really know anymore than you do, okay? We're on an equal playing ground here—"

"Then stop treating me like I'm beneath you."

Merlin half expected Sam to tell him that he _was_ beneath him. He was a servant, having to hide the only thing that made him special out of fear of death or exile; Sam was a man from the future, who could travel across time and space and spoke in a way that suggested he had it all figured out, even if he really didn't. Merlin was tethered; Sam was free. He wondered if all men from the future were this way.

However, to his surprised, Sam nodded in understanding. "Fair enough," he agreed. "I'm sorry. We all are. We're just trying to help." He looked to the others for support, and then back to Merlin. He raised his arms from his sides for a brief second and then asked, "What can we do to help?"

"I'd say, we figure out what the maids are before we do anything rash," the Doctor interjected, and all eyes fell on him. "Just a suggestion. A rather good one, though, if I don't say so myself."

Merlin squared his jaw and reluctantly nodded his agreement. Every instinct was pleading with him to run to Arthur and tell him of the oncoming danger, but he knew the Doctor was right. He couldn't risk exposing his knowledge of the maids before he knew exactly what they were and what they were planning.

"They're some sort of sorceress," Merlin said surely. "I know that much, but I've never heard of anything that can slowly kill a man with a single touch. Have you?"

"No," Sam said. "But what about, uh—your friend. The one with all the books?"

"Gaius," Merlin offered, and Sam's eyes lit up.

"Yeah. Gaius. Would he know?"

Merlin considered this for a moment. He didn't think Gaius would know anything about such creatures through prior knowledge, but perhaps his personal library would hold an account of them. "He may," Merlin said at last.

"Alright, then," Sam said. "Let's go talk to Gaius."

* * *

Night had already fallen by the time they reached the city, and Merlin snuck the group through the back corridors and shadowy areas to avoid any watchful eyes. Twice, they had to pause and hide from the armored patrolmen. "We can't risk anyone realizing who you are," Merlin informed Sam. "They'll kill me on the spot, and you don't want to know what would happen to you." Sam didn't want to find out, either.

When they were approaching the modest chamber occupied by Merlin and Gaius, Sam saw that the door was already wide open, and he could hear a struggle coming from inside.

"Gaius!" Merlin shouted from next to him, and he took off through the door.

By the time Sam and the others caught up, the room was in ruins. Tables were overturned, books and papers were torn and scattered about the room, glass bottles and vials were smashed, and an old man in a long blue robe—who Sam assumed was Gaius—had been knocked onto the floorboards. Merlin was knelt down at the man's side, but he had a finger pointed towards the opposite side of the room.

"Stop her!" he shouted.

Sam tried to follow his gaze, but before he got a clear idea of what was going on, he heard Amy shriek, "Dean, watch out!" Sam's eyes shot over toward his brother. Mere inches from Dean, was a small woman with jet-black hair, pale skin, and a clean white peasant dress. Her eyes were the color of blood as she reached toward Dean with a bony hand and went to graze his cheek with her palm. Sam shouted his brother's name, but the woman was moving too fast for him to do anything else. However, she was suddenly thrown back towards an overturned table by an unseen force. The fall left her body unmoving and unconscious.

Sam scoured the room for whatever it was that knocked the woman back, and when his eyes fell on Merlin, still kneeling across the room, Sam saw the man's own eyes fading from a bright gold back to their normal blue.

"Amy, Rory, help me restrain her before she wakes up," the Doctor said, rushing towards the woman. "And _don't touch_ her bare skin."

Meanwhile, Dean stood shell-shocked and speechless, blinking at the spot before him where the woman had been knocked backward. Then his eyes flashed toward Merlin. "You—you saved me," he gaped, obviously having seen what Merlin had done for him. Sam couldn't help but smile.

"You're no use to any of us dead," Merlin reposed, and then looked back down to Gaius. "Now, help me get him up." Sam followed Dean over to help Merlin, while the others worked on tying the woman to the wooden ladder in the corner of the room with fraying ropes. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw the Doctor pull out his sonic screwdriver and further tighten the ropes that bound the woman's wrists for good measure.

"That should hold her," the Doctor told them, as Sam, Dean, and Merlin managed to heave Gaius up onto a small cot along one wall of the room.

"Gaius, can you hear me?" Merlin said softly, sitting on the cot next to the man.

The Doctor strode over and flashed the sonic over the man before checking its readings. "He's fine," he assured Merlin. "Just a bump to the head." As if to prove him right, Gaius groaned softly and his eyes fluttered open.

"Merlin?" the man croaked, and Sam could almost see Merlin's heart jump out of his chest.

"Gaius! Are you all right?" he asked speedily. "Did she touch you?"

Gaius struggled to sit up, and Rory broke through the crowd to hand him a clay glass of water.

"Touch me?" Gaius wondered, confusion in his voice. "No, my boy. She was in a rage. I was knocked back when she overturned the table. I'm afraid I'm not as young as I used to be." Sam watched a broad smile form on Merlin's face.

"Who—who are these people, Merlin?" Gaius asked, looking to Sam and the others as though he had just noticed their existence.

Merlin's smile faded, and there was a pause before he said, "Friends."

"Merlin," Gaius said, almost disapprovingly. "Are you lying to me?"

Merlin changed the subject. "We need help," he said, his eyes turned to the woman across the room. "She's _not_ Annis' maid; none of them are."

"How do you know?"

"One of them killed the messenger."

Gaius looked shocked for a moment. "How?"

Merlin's eyes met Sam's for a brief moment, almost as though he was asking Sam to back him up. "She _touched _him," Sam said, and he hoped the guy would believe him. Merlin trusted him, and that would have to be good enough for Sam.

"Have you ever heard of something that can do such a thing?" Merlin asked.

"Uh," Rory said from behind the group, successfully getting everyone's attention. "I think, maybe, we can just ask _her _that question."

Sam looked at the woman in white, still tied tightly to the wooden beam of the ladder, and realized her piercing eyes were now open and she wore a crooked smirk on her lips.

* * *

"Who are you?" the Doctor was bent over to look the woman in the eyes, his face inches from hers. It had been over an hour and the woman still wouldn't talk. Sam saw Dean getting anxious; he saw his brother's fingers curl as though they were clenching a knife, he saw his lips snarl as his mind reeled with the thousands of angry or sarcastic comments he could throw at the woman. However, the Doctor continued on. "_What_ are you?"

"Doc, she ain't talkin'," Dean finally spoke up, no longer able to hold it in. The Doctor straightened and turned to face him. "I think it's time you let me and Sam have a crack at her. We know a thing or two about getting the truth out of evil sons of bitches."

"And just what are you suggesting?" the Doctor said, scorn in his eyes. "Torture? Do you really think _that _will get you anywhere?"

"Think of it more as an interrogation," Dean insisted.

"Torture," the Doctor replied shortly.

Dean shrugged. "Works on demons. It'll work on whatever she is."

"Do not—" Sam stood straighter as the Doctor approached his brother, looking at Dean in such a way that suggested he were the threat. He got right into Dean's face, standing slightly shorter than him, and pointed a thin finger at his chest. "_Do not_ make me your enemy, Dean Winchester." His voice was strong, old, and definite. "Just because the things you hunt aren't _human_ doesn't mean they're not _alive_. You could be so much more than any of your kind, any hunter." He spoke as though he thought hunters were the lowest of the human race; there may have been a time when Sam agreed with him. "So much better than _torturer_ and a—_murderer_."

Dean licked his lips, never one to back down. "Thanks, Gandhi, but you got your methods, I got mine."

"Not today." The Doctor turned back to the woman, still pointing his finger at Dean. "Do you hear what this man is saying? He wants to _torture_ you! Now, I'm giving you a choice: him or me? I'm the Doctor, I can help. Tell me . . ." He knelt down on one knee again. "What planet are you from?"

For the first time, the woman's lips parted to let out a howling cackle. When she spoke, it was in an icy, growling voice. "We come from Earth."

Sam saw Amy and Rory exchange nervous glances, and he watched Merlin straighten up from his slouch on a wooden chair. The Doctor's expression didn't seem to change.

"That's not possible," he said slowly.

The woman cocked her head to the side. "Then you know nothing of what is possible, _Doctor_."

"No!" the Doctor said, hitting his forehead with the heel of his palm. "No, it's not. You're fast; you transfer your will onto others through touch. Why? For sustenance? For defense?"

"For fun," the woman cackled.

"I think I've worked it out," the Doctor continued as though she had never spoken. "But it can't be possible. It can't . . ."

"Worked what out?" Merlin asked from the sidelines. "Doctor."

The Doctor ignored him. He just stared at the woman. "Who are you? What do you want?" he asked again in a softer voice than before, as though he hoped her story would change.

"We are the Lamenta," the woman said, still smirking. "We're here to follow orders."

"Whose orders?"

"Our great Queen's," she said. "We will go to her in the dead of night. She will give us our final orders." Her eyes fell on Merlin, looking at him as though she could see right through him. Sam could see the alarm in the young wizard's eyes as the woman said, as though it were to him, "We will take everything you love."

The room went eerily quiet, until Sam stepped in. "I think we've heard enough," he said, taking the Doctor by the arm. "Doctor?" He fished for the man's attention, and the Doctor finally met his eyes.

Then he looked passed Sam and released himself from his grip. "Merlin," he said pointedly. "We need to find out who the Lamenta are working for. I think it's time we went undercover." He was smiling now, but Merlin just shook his head in wonder. "Do you have the ability to transform someone into something else? Just for a bit. We don't want her as a Lamenta forever. Isn't that right, Amy?" he called to her.

Amy looked confused as to what he was talking about and what it had to do with her, but she agreed anyway, a bit unsurely, "Yeah!" Sam wondered just how much trust she had placed in her Doctor.

Meanwhile, Merlin was nodding. "It will require a potion," he told the Doctor. "Gaius and I can make it now; we've already got all the ingredients."

"Chop, chop. We've no time to lose," the Doctor said, fluttering his arms as he spun around towards Amy. "Now, as for you . . ."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight.**

Amy pulled a disgusted face as she watched Merlin drop a strand of her fiery hair into the mix, followed by a strand of the Lamenta's dark black hair. They had managed to clear up a workplace and salvage enough vials and ingredients to make the potion, but Amy wished the process had taken longer. She wouldn't tell the Doctor, but she was dreading drinking the potion.

"So, I'm supposed to drink this thing and turn into her," Amy whispered to the Doctor as she sat next to him. The Doctor had been quiet from some time, staring blanking at the Lamenta, and Sam and Dean were muttering something to one another in the corner. Rory was trying to help Merlin and Gaius in any way he could, but he seemed to just be getting in the way. "And then what?" she went on. "Do I follow them to the mother ship and steal all the ray guns?" She let out a convincing chuckle.

The Doctor only sighed. He rested his elbows on his knees and cupped his hands in front of his lips. "I'm not positive they aren't from Earth anymore," he told her.

This only made Amy confused. _Of course they're not from Earth_, she told herself. _They can't really be magic, can they?_

"What are they, Doctor?" she asked instead, giving him a soft nudge with her shoulder. "I know you've got a theory. What is it?"

He didn't answer for a few beats. Finally, he looked at her and gave his small thin smile, and Amy knew he was trying to give her confidence even though he had none of his own on the matter. "Oh, don't worry about that now, Pond," he said. "You just find out what they're hiding, eh? And let's just hope I'm wrong."

* * *

From across the room, Merlin held up a small, purple colored liquid in a glass vial to the candlelight. "It's ready," he announced to the others, and all other conversation died away.

"There's one more thing," Gaius told them, looking down and scanning a page of the potion book with his finger. "It says the host can't be conscious while the potion is in effect." He glanced behind him at the Lamenta. "We're going to have to stun her somehow."

"So, what, we gotta put her on ice for awhile?" Dean asked.

The Doctor was nodding swiftly. "Makes sense: put the original in stasis to create a psychic link to the copy."

"How're we supposed to do that?" Dean wondered.

"I think I may have an idea," Merlin chimed in. He set the potion down on the tabletop and made his way over to the Lamenta.

She looked up at him with cold, threatening eyes.

"Stand back," he told the others over his shoulder. He raised his palm and outstretched fingers toward the woman, and appeared to be thinking for a moment. When he spoke again, it was in a gravely voice that didn't seem to be his own: "_Ástríce bebiede__þe arisan_."

The bonds around the Lamenta's wrists snapped and her skin began hardening and turning a dull gray color; her robes and hair did the same. The woman was lifted to her feet as long stone wings grew from her shoulder blades. The last patches of flesh to be turned were around her dull blue eyes, which still stared menacingly at Merlin with a strange twinkle in them, and finally her stony hands moved unnaturally to cover them.

Merlin lowered his hand and stepped back, a satisfied grin on his face. Having to hide his magic for so long, he was never one to make a spectacle out of it, but he felt turning the woman into her own guise was fitting. However, when he turned around, he realized no one else seemed to get the poetry behind it. They all stood gaping at him.

"Dude. You turned her into a Weeping Angel," Dean was the first to speak up. "Wait, does this mean we'll have to play a game of Red-Light-Green-Light with her now?"

The Doctor reached into his pocket and took out the sonic screwdriver, steadily flashing the tip over the stone. "No . . . But she's not dead," he reported. "There are traces of cognitive energies, but they may just be residual." He looked to Amy. "Still, it should be enough to make a connection."

"Way to go, Harry Potter," Dean said, and slapped Merlin on the back. Merlin wrinkled his nose at Dean, perplexed.

"So," Amy spoke up. "My turn, I guess?"

"You're _sure_ this will work? I mean, she won't be stuck looking like that _forever_?" Rory said again, worry in his voice, but Amy waved the question away.

"Oh, don't worry, stupid," she said, trying to sound brave. "It should be fun."

Rory grabbed her by the arm. "Be careful," he warned, and she let her bravado slip long enough to nod at him.

Merlin handed her the vial and she turned it over in her hands. "Cheers," she said at last, and swallowed it in one gulp.

Merlin raised his hand again and chanted, "_Þece treowee andwlitan heora fram gesiht eallra_."

At first nothing happened, and everyone held their breath. Then, slowly, Amy's orange locks began turning black, and her ivory skin dulled and appeared sickly. Even her clothes twisted and changed to resemble the dress of the Lamenta. Soon, she no longer looked like Amy.

The Doctor looked at her hard, and then said, "How do you feel?"

"How do I _look_?" Amy asked, but her voice sent chills down everyone's spins. It also made Amy jump and touch her throat. "Oh, that's too weird. Oooh." Now that she had gotten used to her new voice, she looked towards the others. "Anyway, how do I look? And _don't_ say better than before!"

"Not even a little," Dean answered with a hallow laugh, and then cleared his throat and looked down sheepishly when Rory glared at him.

"You look fine," Sam answered seriously. "Just—don't act so much like—well, _Amy_. Try and act like they would."

She nodded, then forced herself to stand upright and still. "That's better," Sam told her.

"The rest of the maids are staying in the servants' chambers," Merlin informed her. "They're in this wing of the castle on the lower floors. Go now; we don't know when they plan to leave. And come straight back here when you return to Camelot. The potion won't last long."

"Right-o," she said, then cleared her throat. "I mean, _yes, my lord_." She turned and exited the room.

Merlin licked his lips and shuffled around awkwardly, but try as he might, he couldn't suppress a small smile at being addressed as a lord.

"Dean, follow her," the Doctor said, waving in the direction of the door. "Don't let her out of your sight."

"'m on it," Dean said. His eyes locked with Sam's in a silent _"look after yourself"_ before he, too, exited the chambers.

Without missing a beat, the Doctor reached into his pocket and tossed the Tardis key to Rory, who caught it only by reflex. "Rory, take Sam to the Tardis. A long time ago, I was given swords, forged with dark matter, by the Duke of Jupiter for saving his daughter. Long story. Anyway, they _should_ cancel out any energies sent out by the Lamenta, so they might be good to have around."

"Should?" Rory asked skeptically.

The Doctor ignored him. "They're somewhere in the Tardis. Maybe the attic, maybe the closet, maybe not. I can never remember. Check everywhere."

"Doctor," Rory protested. "That's_ hundreds _of rooms. That could take hours."

"We may not have hours," the Doctor responded airily. "Better start looking."

"Okay," Rory tried again. "But the Tardis is parked in the middle of the courtyard—right outside the castle. How are we supposed to get to it unseen? We don't exactly look like we're from around here, and _he's_ supposed to be on the run." He nodded towards Sam.

Sam looked at Merlin. "I'm guessing you don't have anything that could make us invisible?"

Merlin pressed his lips together and shook his head. "Believe me, it'd make my life a lot easier if I did."

"Guess we'll just have to be extra careful, then," Sam said with a shrug, looking at Rory and nodding towards the door. Rory followed him out.

At this point, the Doctor spun around to Merlin and Gaius, a broad grin on his face. "Now, hope you two aren't too tired, because we've got homework to do."

* * *

_Okay, so far so good_, Amy thought for what must have been the twentieth time that night. It was well past midnight when the Lamenta had snuck out of the city and entered the forest beyond. At some points, she could hear a hissing command of another Lamenta in her head, giving out orders on where to go. Amy prayed the Lamenta couldn't hear what she was thinking.

Every now and again, Amy glanced towards the dark trees around them, and she sometimes saw Dean's silhouette as he made his way stealthy through the forest, following the group. He'd been following them since they left Camelot. Amy assumed the Doctor had sent him as backup, and for once she was happy about that: Having someone else around may come in handy.

After nearly two hours of walking, the group of Lamenta came to a small hut built into the side of a hill, and Amy could see the warm glow of a fire coming from inside one of the windows.

"My Queen," one of the Lamenta in the front called. "We have come for your final orders."

Amy gulped as the door to the modest hut swung open, and a thin, pale woman with dark hair and a long black dressed appeared from the other side. Despite her wretched surroundings, she was beautiful, with a certain kind of malice about her. "Welcome," she said. Her voice had an icy calm to it, and Amy noticed the way the woman walked: tall and upright, like she hadn't always lived in shambles—in fact, quite the opposite. Her posture reminded Amy of that of all the rich girls from her old school.

The Lamenta kneeled before the woman, and Amy decided she'd better do the same. Looking up at the woman, Amy saw her smiling slyly at the reverence she was given.

_Oh, yeah_, Amy thought. _Definitely a rich girl._

"Please," the woman said. "Get up. I'm sure you have much to tell me." The Lamenta did as they were told.

Meanwhile, Dean used the shadows of the trees to sneak to the other side of the hut and crouch down against one of the walls, his gun held up and ready in his hands, in order to better hear what the woman was saying.

"Is Arthur dead yet?" she said coldly.

"Queen Morgana," one Lamenta hissed. "He lives."

Amy saw the woman's—Morgana, she now assumed was her name—smile fall. "Why is this?"

"His queen has not returned," the same Lamenta told. "You have given us the order to kill them both."

Morgana stayed calm. "Yes, I believe I have."

"My Queen, there is more," another Lamenta said, getting Morgana's attention. "The messenger whom you had us kill in the forest—he escaped before he perished." Morgana turned her cold eyes towards the speaker. "The servant boy—he knows of us."

Morgana took a sharp breath in. "Merlin," she spat, as though saying the name left a disgusted taste in her mouth. "He will be the ruin of me."

"We have sent one of ours to silence him," the Lamenta explained.

"And?"

"_Tell her, sister,"_ Amy heard inside her head. She realized at once that she was supposed to be the Lamenta that was sent to kill Merlin.

"He was nowhere to be found, my Queen," Amy lied in a hissing voice, and the others seemed to accept this.

Amy took a deep breath to calm herself and averted her eyes to her hands, but this only made her panic more. Where the sickly extremities of the Lamenta were meant to be were her own polished fingers and porcelain skin. She gulped and tried not to shout. The potion was wearing off.

"Very well," Morgana was saying. "If Merlin finds out our plans, it won't be long until he warns his precious Arthur." She seemed to think for a moment, and then said decidedly, "You must kill the King tonight, once Camelot has fallen asleep."

"And what of his queen?" a Lamenta asked.

"Once I take the throne, our dear Gwen will have nowhere she can hide," Morgana said flatly. "You leave her to me."

"And the servant boy?"

Morgana shrugged apathetically and waved the thought away. "If he gets in your way," she said nonchalantly. "Kill him."

The Lamenta bowed again, and broke into a chant of, "Long live the Queen!"

* * *

As the Lamenta turned to disappear into the dark forest, Dean stayed behind, still crouched next to the wall. He watched as Morgana stood outside her hut, smirking as the firelight made her pale eyes twinkle. After a moment, she made her way back inside the hut and Dean took this opportunity to rush out of his hiding place and follow after Amy and the Lamenta.

Just as he had gotten back into the cover of the trees, he heard a twig snap behind him. Instinctively, he spun around to face the noise, pulled out his Colt from the back of his jeans, and pointed it in the direction of the intruder in one swift motion. On the other end of the gun was a Lamenta, but she had two slender, clean hands held up in surrender.

"It's me," Amy said in a whisper, her voice once again her own. It was strange to hear her Scottish tones coming from the Lamenta's lips.

"Amy?" Dean said. "Man, don't just sneak up on me like that!"

"Don't be such a baby," she said. "Now, come on. We've got to get back to the Doctor . . ." She turned her head in the direction in which the Lamenta had disappeared. "Before _they_ get to Arthur."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine.**

Merlin, Gaius, and the Doctor had managed to sort through three thirds of Gaius' library—provided the book wasn't shredded or torn in two by the Lamenta's attack—in search of any information on their new foe. Gaius was certain he'd read about them in passing once before, and the Doctor was eager to learn, but Merlin grew more restless and impatient with every passing moment. His eyes kept falling back on the statue in the corner of the room, looming over them. He couldn't be sure, but he could have sworn it had moved an inch or two to the left.

"Ah, yes, here it is," Gaius spoke up after a few hours. His thin spectacles were worn over his eyes as he held a thick, leather bound book in one hand and brought it over to the others sitting at the table. "The Lamenta," he explained. "They're creatures of magic; but I'd say we already know that. It says here . . . they were once ordinary women—servants, all of whom betrayed their masters, murdering them for their own freedom. As punishment, they were cursed many years ago by the Fisher King to forever follow and serve the will of another. But their greed and long life twisted them into monsters . . . Apparently, they're magic is through touch, and they have the ability to move at swift speeds, unless someone is looking directly at them, in which case they must slow to a normal pace."

"Well, that's no good," the Doctor said. "What if they're all running around _together_? How do they know where the other one is if they can't see at each other?" The tone in his voice suggested he already knew the answer.

"I believe they communicate with on another through telepathy," Gaius informed him after consulting the book once more.

The Doctor blew out his lips. "That doesn't really tell us how to stop them, does it?"

"I'm afraid not."

Merlin slouched back in his chair. He was becoming very tired of running around in circles. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd even slept.

"Gaius," he said, trying not to snap. "Do you think Geoffrey would have anything about how to kill them in his records?" He assumed this would be another dead end, but he needed to get Gaius out of the room. Merlin had doubts that had been festering in his mind since the moment Sam arrived in Camelot, doubts he wanted to express, but he wouldn't dare pass them on to Gaius in fear that the man may lose his belief in Camelot, or even in Merlin.

"I'm not sure," Gaius said, seeming to consider the idea. "Of course, I can certainly check."

Merlin nodded, trying to seem polite. "Could you? The Doctor and I will continue on here." Gaius seemed to accept this and took his leave, heading towards the records room.

As soon as he was sure Gaius was out of earshot, the Doctor sat back and looked at Merlin. "Something on your mind, Merlin?" he guessed.

"I just don't see the point," Merlin said instantly, all inhibitions now dropped, and the Doctor gave him a perplexed look. "The others—they didn't even think Camelot existed until they got here. In the future, no one even cares—no one even _remembers_ it. I don't see why I have so much responsibility—it's useless! Why I should fight for Camelot and for Arthur if it won't even matter in the end? If it's not even important?" Merlin didn't know why he was telling the Doctor all this, but he needed someone to talk to, and the Doctor seemed like the man with all the answers.

When Merlin looked at the Doctor, he saw the man gazing at him with soft eyes. "Not important?" he repeated in a voice as soft as his eyes, almost as though he didn't believe what he was hearing. "Is that really what you think?"

Merlin didn't answer; he didn't need to.

"You see, some things," the Doctor began. "Some things are just too extraordinary for people to believe—so they get passed down as legends or stories. But do you really think that makes them any less important? Sometimes stories are more important and teach people more about life than anything in a silly old history book can . . . People will look at what you did here until the end of time. They will make songs and tales and even one or two blockbusters about you—forever . . . And no one will every forget Camelot, or Arthur, or the Knights of the Round Table . . . or you."

Merlin averted his eyes and felt them well up, and he tried his hardest to fight the water from rolling down his cheeks. He hardly believed what the Doctor was telling him, but he felt something that he realized he hadn't felt in a long time: hope.

"I should thank you," Merlin told the Doctor with a shuddering breath in, but the Doctor craned his neck to catch Merlin's eyes once more and smiled encouragingly.

"_I _should thank _you_."

Merlin covered his lips with his fingers, but he could no longer hold back his smile.

* * *

"This place is incredible!" Sam called for the fifth time, his eyes bright and his grin broad as he eyed every nook and cranny of the room. This must have been the tenth room they had searched for the swords, and Sam couldn't believe the sheer size of the spaceship. He had already seen the library, which for some reason had a swimming pool in it; a few bedrooms; and the attic, among other rooms. They found themselves now in the Doctor's study, which Rory said he rarely went in out of respect for the Doctor's privacy, but this would have to be an exception. Sam was glad.

The room was colored the same greenish tint as the rest of the ship, but it was lined with ceiling-to-floor bookshelves, leather chairs, paintings, and a fireplace that didn't seem to have a chimney. The inside of the ship seemed to go on forever, and Sam had to swallow the urge to point out the obvious and say, _it's bigger on the inside_.

Rory was on the floor sorting through some large black boxes on the bookshelves, as Sam looked around fascinated. "Yeah, it's a different dimension than the rest of the universe. It's a type of technology from where the Doctor's from," Rory told him in a preoccupied tone. "Really, the Doctor just likes it when people point out that it's bigger on the inside."

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but then decided against it. Instead, he said, "God, I thought nothing else would be able to surprise me today. I mean, we're in Camelot, after all."

Rory stopped looking for a moment and sat back on his ankles. "There were always rumors of Camelot back in the Middle Ages," he said, almost as though he was recalling a distant memory, "all over the world, but I never took them seriously."

Sam tilted his head at him. "You've been a lot of places in this thing, huh? With the Doctor?"

Rory met his eyes and nodded slowly. "Sorry about him. He comes on a bit strong, but he means well."

"Yeah, I noticed." Sam couldn't help but ask, "Who is he, anyway?"

"Honestly? No idea," he admitted. "I don't think anyone really does. He's not human, I can tell you that much. He's something called a Time Lord." He noticed the look of wonder on Sam's face. "You alright?"

"Uh, yeah," Sam said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn't really believe in aliens until that day. "Time Lord. I guess that explains the time travel, huh?"

"Must do, yeah," was the answer. Rory let out a short, soft laugh. "It's funny," he told. "I was training to be a nurse before I met the Doctor; Amy was just a kiss-o-gram . . . That all seems so far away now. I've seen things most people would never believe back home—things right out of a science fiction film. I've been to hell and back. I've died at least six times—" Sam pulled a face; he knew the feeling. "But it's like," Rory continued, "Real life didn't start until we started traveling with the Doctor."

Sam leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms across his chest. He wouldn't admit it, but he was somewhat jealous of Rory. In Rory's life, there were no Leviathan, no Michael and Lucifer, no Yellow Eyed Demon; just all of history for the taking. Sam wondered if Rory and Amy knew how lucky they were.

"And I've seen all sorts of sides of him since then," he heard Rory go on. "Sides that are brave and selfless; and I've seen sides that I don't much like, too." He seemed to consider his own words, and then said, "But I trust him—with my life, and I trust him with Amy's. You should, too, you know."

Sam looked to the carpeted floor.

"Look, I'm not saying you have to like him. Just like I'm not saying your brother has to like a wizard," Rory said sensibly. "You're naturally suspicious of people; that's easy to see. I'm sure you have a right to be—as a hunter, or whatever you said you are. But, if we're going to stop whatever it is that's going on here, we have to start trusting one another. We're in this together, you know."

A corner of Sam's lips twitched into a smile for a second. He found himself liking Rory. "Yeah," Sam agreed softly, still looking at the floor. He knew Rory was right. If anything, they were all enemies of the same enemy, and Sam assumed greater alliances had been formed for less. They had begun working with one another the moment that Lamenta opened her mouth, and deep down they all knew it. She had given them a common goal, and if Sam was sure of one thing, it was that each member of their new little army had a knack for taking out the bad guys.

"Ah," Rory said, pulling a long box from a shelf and opening it. From it, he lifted out a short, curved, black blade with a red handle to show Sam. "You think this is it?" he asked.

"Must be," Sam guessed.

"There are only three," Rory informed him, leaving the box on the ground and standing up. "But they're a bit heavy. _Now_ I see why the Doctor sent you." Sam let out a low chuckle at this and shook his head.

"We'd better get back," Rory said, checking his watch. "Must nearly be sun-up by now."

Sam jerked his head back in shock. "What? We've been in here for an hour, tops."

"Time's different in here," Rory said. "Especially when you're acting like a kid in a sweet's shop."

Sam mocked offense, but then he found himself chuckling. Rory joined in.

* * *

Dean and Amy, who was now back to her normal redheaded self, walked through the door and greeted the others, who had been waiting for them a short time. Sam and Rory had returned just minutes ahead of them, having carried the weighty box between them and set it down on the wooden table in Gaius' chambers.

"Back to being Amy?" Rory pointed out, relief in his voice.

"I was afraid I'd go ginge in the middle of every Lamenta," she said, taking a seat next to him at the table. Dean placed himself behind the chair Sam was sitting in. "But, yeah, still me."

"What did you find out?" asked the Doctor, who had himself seated on the steps outside Merlin's bedroom. "Do you know who's leading them?"

"Hell yeah," Dean answered for her. "Buckets of crazy, that's who."

Sam looked up at his brother and shook his head. "Wanna share with the class?"

"It was some chick in the middle of the woods," Dean told them with a shrug. From across the table, Merlin and Gaius exchanged looks. "Some _human_ chick. Kinda hot, actually."

"Morgana," Gaius said dryly.

Amy nodded. "Yeah, that's what one of the other ones called her. _Queen_ Morgana . . . Who is she?"

Merlin squared his jaw. He had hoped it wouldn't come to this—that it wouldn't be Morgana, but he should have known better. "She's Arthur's half sister," he told them. "And a very powerful sorceress. She believes the throne is rightfully hers, and she'll stop at nothing to take it."

If Morgana was behind all this, then they were in more trouble than Merlin thought. It didn't just mean the Lamenta were planning on bringing down Camelot, but they meant to kill Arthur.

Sure enough, Amy said, "She gave them their final orders, to kill the King. She knows we know about the Lamenta. One of them saw the messenger tell you about them, Merlin." Merlin thought back to the flash of white he'd seen in the forest right after the messenger died.

"They were waiting for the Queen to get back so they could kill her, too, but Morgana doesn't want to risk us stopping her," Amy went on. "Doctor, they're planning on killing Arthur _tonight_."

Merlin's heart skipped a beat. Too many times had Morgana gotten too close to getting what she wanted, and Merlin wouldn't give her another chance. Who knew if this was the day she succeeded. "I can't allow that to happen," Merlin said definitely, picking himself up from the table and making his way towards the door. He had to tell Arthur; he should have done so immediately.

"Merlin, wait," Gaius' voice stopped him. "If you tell Arthur now, he'll want to take on the Lamenta himself—with no one to aid him. All the knights have gone with Gwen, remember?"

Merlin took a sharp breath in and closed his eyes, hoping for a solution to come to him. None did. So he turned back around to face the others.

"So, what d'we do?" Sam asked. "We can't just _let_ them kill him. We gotta tell him something."

Merlin shook his head. "Gaius is right," he said. "Arthur won't stand a chance against their magic. Not alone, he'll be torn apart."

"We'll just have to beat them to him, then," Dean said, but Merlin only half heard it. His eyes were now fixed on the angel statue, and he could feel a strong sensation overcome his body. He could hear his own heart thumping in his chest and felt as though he was connecting to the creature inside the stone, and it was telling him what he hoped beyond hope wasn't true.

"Arthur is going to die," he said, as though he were in a trance. He didn't know how he knew it, but he knew it was true.

For a moment, all was silent. Then the Doctor spoke up. "He won't."

This broke the spell, and Merlin looked to him, the man with all the hope. "How do you know?"

The Doctor lifted himself up and made his way to the middle of the room, halfway between Merlin and the others. "You have take my word on it," he said, but he saw this didn't satisfy Merlin. He continued, after a heavy breath, "Time is tricky thing. Most moments can be changed—details can be altered—and the universe would compensate for it. But there are certain things that _always_ happen, that _have_ to happen. They're fixed points in time . . . Arthur's death is one of them."

Merlin's mouth hung open. All this time, the Doctor knew how and when Arthur would die, and he never said. Part of Merlin wanted to shout at him for not telling him, but the other part owed the Doctor some reverence. He really was the man with all the answers.

"Arthur dies only after the creation of Albion," the Doctor said. "And that's not today. If we're very careful, we can make sure to stick to this rule of time, but we have to do_ everything_ right. I know you want to tell Arthur, Merlin, but you can't. Not yet. We have to find another way." He filled the gap between himself and Merlin and rested a hand on his shoulder. He said, in a lower tone than before, "We can still help him, Merlin. You can still save Arthur. He doesn't die today . . . Trust me."

Merlin believed him, or at least he wanted to—more than anything.

"Sun's comin' up," they heard Dean say, as brilliant shades of red began flooding the chamber. Merlin looked towards the window, wondering what the day would bring.

"Merlin, you must attend to your duties," Gaius told him, appearing behind the Doctor. "If you don't show up for work again, Arthur will become suspicious."

"What will you do?" he asked, directing the question to the Doctor.

"Oh, we'll keep busy. Don't worry about us," the Doctor said. "Actually, I'd like to spend some time examining out new piece of artwork."

Merlin turned his head to the eerie statue in the corner. It made chills run down his spine, but he tried his best to hide it. "As the royally sanctioned city planner or as the Doctor?" Merlin joked, forcing a smile. The Doctor returned the expression.

Grabbing his jacket, Merlin again made his way to the door, but he heard the Doctor's voice call after him, "And remember, not a word about this to Arthur."

Merlin paused for a moment, looked over his shoulder at the Doctor, and then behind him to Sam, almost as though he was asking if Sam trusted the man enough to believe him. There was a moment of hesitation, and then Sam nodded to him; this seemed to strengthen Merlin's resolve.

He closed the door behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten.**

It had been the longest day of Merlin's life. Every creak of the floorboards made him jump; every motion seen from the corner of his eyes reminded him of the dangers to come. He made sure not to leave the King's side for a moment: through breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and while performing his daily chores. Even when Arthur decided to train, Merlin happily allowed him to use him as a target. If he couldn't tell Arthur what was going on, the least he could do was keep a watchful eye on him. As long as someone was accompanying Arthur, it would be harder for the Lamenta to strike.

Sunset found the two in the throne room, and Arthur lounged on his throne in his relaxed clothing while Merlin stood to attention just a few feet away, determined not to let his guard down. It was then that Merlin felt a pair of eyes watching him, and when he turned his head to look at Arthur, he saw the King studying him with his cheek resting thoughtfully on his fist.

"You've been very quiet today, Merlin," Arthur broke the silence. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Merlin answered too quickly, and Arthur raised an eyebrow in suspicion. "No, I'm just—" he lied, slower now, and tried to sound convincing. "Just trying to give you some peace . . . to make up for my recent lack of presence."

Arthur scoffed. "You'll never give me peace, Merlin," he joked, and must have noticed that Merlin didn't so much as smile in return. "Well, if you're not going to be much company, you can go," he said with a wave of his hand. "I could use the time to think, anyway."

Merlin stood up straighter, his eyes wide as he took a few steps closer to the throne. "I can't," he said urgently, trying to think of an excuse. "The day is hardly over. You may still need me," was the best he could come up with.

"Why have you been so clingy?"

"I don't see anything wrong with a little loyalty," Merlin told him. "You're my king."

For a moment, Arthur looked hurt. He brought his hand down from his face and seemed to consider his servant. "Is that all I am, Merlin?"

There was a pause, and Merlin narrowed his eyes and looked at the King in question, but before he could say anything, Arthur grinned playfully and said, in his normal tone, "_What_ has gotten into you today? Tell me."

"It's nothing."

"Good," Arthur said, seeming to accept this. "Then you'll let me be to—"

"Work on your speech," Merlin finished hurriedly. "I know. I can help you with it."

Arthur smirked, but rolled his eyes. "In a few days, it will be first anniversary of my father's death," he said, a bit sadly, "and of the day I became King. I have to address my people, and this speech can't be—_off the cuff_. It needs to come from the heart. I have to consider my words, carefully." When it was clear that Merlin still wasn't getting the message, Arthur finished with, "_Alone_."

"I can write it down while you think," Merlin insisted.

"Or you could go polish my armor and sharpen my sword for Guinevere's arrival tomorrow while you wait," Arthur countered.

"But—"

"Get out," Arthur said calmly, pointing towards the door, and Merlin knew better than to press the matter. He didn't feel comfortable leaving Arthur alone, but there was no way he could stay with him without piquing Arthur's suspicions. So Merlin reluctantly turned to take his leave. Midway down the hall, Merlin stopped and peered over his shoulder at Arthur, watching the fading sunlight highlight his golden hair and make his handsome blue eyes sparkle.

"Promise you'll send for me if you need anything," Merlin said, and he heard Arthur give an amused chuckle.

"Merlin—"

"I'm going!" Merlin held his hands up in mock surrender, but as he exited the throne room, he saw two guards walking down the corridor.

"You men," he called to them, getting their attention. He tilted his head towards the doors. "Stand guard for the King. Stay at this post, but don't disturb him unless it's completely necessary." The guards did as they were told and Merlin felt better for it, but not by much. Still, at least Arthur wouldn't be alone.

As he made his way down to the armory, he kept a watchful eye out for any of the Lamenta that could have been sneaking through the castle. His mind was so focused on that task, that he failed to see a long leg protruding onto to path, and had to stumble to regain his balance when he tripped over it.

"I'm sorry. I didn't see you there," he said apologetically to the owner of the leg. It was another guard. He was sitting against the stone wall, his head lolled to the side as he snored softly. Merlin jerked his head back and winkled his nose in wonder. _That's certainly an odd place to fall asleep_, he thought, not thinking any more of it. Not until he turned the corner and saw two other guards, sprawled out on the floor in a deep sleep.

Merlin felt himself start to panic; he knew something was wrong. "Arthur," he breathed, turning on his heels and heading for his chamber. He had to get to the others. He needed their help.

* * *

Sam and Dean stood across from each other, looking down at the man on the white cot.

"Man, I don't like this," Dean said, shaking his head down at Gaius. "Shit like this doesn't just _happen_."

"Dean, the Doctor said he's just sleeping," Sam said weakly. Even though the Doctor had insisted this, Sam had to admit it was a bit odd the way the man suddenly dropped where he was standing. He looked over his shoulder to the Doctor, who was still preoccupied with running tests on the statue, like he had been doing all day, and muttering under his breath. If he'd found anything, he wasn't saying.

While the Doctor worked, the others prepared themselves for the inevitable. They decided that Sam, Rory, and Amy would each hold on to a sword from the Tardis, as the Doctor said he was never one for weapons. On the other hand, Dean, who had always been a big proponent of weapons, had taken out his favorite Colt and said, "I'd like to see 'em get passed this." However, besides distributing weapons, the group had little more to do than twirl their thumbs and watch the Doctor work. By sunset, Sam was restless. He would never admit it, but he was somewhat glad when the door suddenly slammed open and Merlin came rushing into the room.

"What's happened?" Merlin demanded. "The entire castle has fallen asleep." His eyes fell on Gaius, and he took a steadying breath in.

The Doctor looked up from his work at this. "What?"

_For a genius, he really does miss the obvious_, Sam thought. He should have gone with his gut: he knew something funny was going on.

The Doctor dashed towards the window. "It's the whole city," he reported, and the others crowded around the small window to see for themselves. Sure enough, the city below them was deathly quiet, and Sam even saw a few sleeping bodies littered about the streets.

"How can a whole city just fall asleep?" Amy questioned.

"It's magic," Merlin told her. "It has to be."

"Well, what about us?" asked Rory. "Why haven't we been affected?"

"The Tardis is protecting us," the Doctor reasoned. "Except Merlin; his abilities must be helping him along."

"Well, I'll tell ya what's bothering me," Dean voiced, his eyes meeting Amy's. "You think this is what Morgana meant by 'when Camelot falls asleep?'"

Sam saw Amy open her mouth to answer, but if she spoke, the shattering sound of glass and wood from behind them drowned her words out. Sam spun around immediately to look at the statue of the stunned Lamenta, but all he saw was a flash of white speed through the door and the large broken hunks of stone that the creature left in her wake.

"Arthur!" Merlin shouted, and raced after the escaped Lamenta.

"No, Merlin!" Sam called after him, but he was already gone. "Dammit!"

From next to him, the Doctor sped off after Merlin, and Sam could hear his voice fading as he rushed down the corridor, "Don't take your eyes off of her!" Amy and Rory followed the Doctor.

"Come on, Sammy. Time's a-wastin'," Dean muttered, and took off, too. Sam reached for his black sword on the table, shoved it into his belt, and joined in on the chase.

* * *

It didn't take long for Sam to catch up with the others, and his long leg's even helped him pass Dean and Amy. The Lamenta was close in front of them, and she led them down the length of a long, moonlit corridor, passing sleeping bodies that were strewn across the castle. As she ran, the woman was muttering some dead language loudly and, once they were on the other side of the corridor, Sam heard the door that he had just passed swing open. Another Lamenta came through it, blocking Dean and Amy's way through to the others, and they skidded to a halt as to not get close to the woman.

Sam looked behind his shoulder as he ran, just in time to see the second Lamenta slap her hand forcefully against the wall, and then begin running swiftly back down the corridor from where the group came. Once she was clear, a section of the ceiling collapsed, separating Sam and the others from Dean and Amy with a wall of fallen stone. The Doctor, Rory, and Merlin spun around automatically to see what the commotion was.

"Dean!" Sam shouted and ran to the rocks.

Rory was right behind him. "Amy!"

There was a pause in which Sam could hear his heart thumping in his ears, and then Amy's muffled voice sounded through the debris. "It's okay! We're alright!"

"She's getting away!" Merlin called, and shot off down the hallway after the Lamenta. The Doctor hesitated, but then followed him.

"Go, Sammy," Sam heard Dean's voice shout. "We'll take care of the Wicked Witch of the West." With that, Sam and Rory heard rushed footsteps as Dean and Amy ran back down the hallway.

Soon enough, they found their way back to Merlin and the Doctor, who had apparently managed to catch up with the Lamenta.

She ran past a pile of at least seven guards, all of whom had dropped where they stood, and swooped down to graze one's cheek. Once she was clear on the other side of them, the group of guards rose up and blocked the passage between the Lamenta and the group. Sam slid to a halt as he saw the guards draw their swords in unison, daring them to come nearer. There was no way they could get past them without a fight.

"Doctor, you and Merlin go ahead," Sam said, taking out the black blade from his belt. Rory followed his lead. "Me and Rory'll hold 'em off."

Without hesitation, Merlin looked around wildly for another way through the pack of guards, and found a closed door to a stairwell on his left. "This way!" he called to the Doctor and pushed through the door.

Once the other two were gone, Sam readied his sword, staring down the guards. His father had made him and Dean learn their way around almost any weapon, and the sword was no exception. He had plenty of experience, but he couldn't say the same for Rory. "Ever use a sword before?" he checked.

"I've had over two-thousand years of training," Rory answered nonchalantly.

Sam did a double take at Rory, and then pulled passive a face and shrugged. Like he'd said before, there wasn't much that could surprise him after that day. "I believe you."

The possessed guards charged toward them, one of them raising his weapon and trying to bring it down on Sam, and Sam lifted his own sword to block the blow—but it never came. A perplexed Sam looked down at the swords and saw that they weren't even touching. The guard's blade was hovering inches from his own, and the man was grunting and struggling to get his sword to meet the other. Sam felt his blade vibrating softly and it emitted a low chime. He glanced at Rory, who was experiencing a similar moment, and he remembered what the Doctor said about the swords: they'd be able to block the Lamentas' magic. They couldn't lose this fight.

Realizing the same, the guards gave up and, wide eyed, began backing away slowly. Sam caught Rory's eye and they both grinned slyly, their thoughts on the same page.

It was their turn to charge.

* * *

Amy and Dean flew down the corridor in pursuit of the second Lamenta, careful not to let her turn any corners or get out of their eyeshot without being close behind. They didn't want her to get too much of a lead.

They came upon a split in the hallway and the Lamenta flew down the right side. Dean stumbled to a halt. "Follow her. I'm gonna see if I can cut her off," he shouted to Amy, who was still running after the Lamenta. Dean cupped his hands over his mouth to amplify his voice and called, "Don't let her out of your sight!" Then he veered to the left and raced down the second hallway, hoping it would somehow connect to where the Lamenta was headed. He was running blind, not really knowing his way around the castle, but he was banking on the fact that the Lamenta didn't either.

After a few minutes of running, he came to a tall wooden door at the end of the corridor and busted through it, finally coming to a stop in the room beyond. On the opposite wall, he noticed another door, which suddenly flung open to reveal the Lamenta. When she saw Dean, she made the mistake of halting. Amy was right behind her, now pressing her black sword threateningly against the small of the woman's back.

"Don't move," Amy warned, but the woman was muttering something under her breath. Suddenly, there was a loud bang from behind Dean as the door he'd come through exploded and made splinters rain down on them. Dean immediately threw his arms over his head and doubled over to shield himself from the wood, but Amy was thrown back against the stone wall, her sword now laying uselessly on the floor a few feet away.

When the debris from the explosion had subsided, Dean heard Amy give a soft groan, telling him that she was alive and conscious, but Dean wondered for how long. He looked up quickly and saw the Lamenta hovering over Amy, her fingers outstretched towards her skin.

Dean leaped forward, pulled his Colt out from his jeans' waistline and pressed it to the Lamenta's head. He wasn't allowing her a second chance.

"Welcome to the twenty-first century, bitch," he said, and emptied a bullet into the woman's temple.

* * *

Merlin skidded to a halt inside the throne room as the Doctor stayed behind to inspect the limp bodies of the guards at the foot of the doors, but Merlin didn't need the Doctor to know the men were already dead. The Lamenta wouldn't risk them waking up, because Morgana wouldn't risk it; not when she was so close to victory. He just had to get to Arthur before he suffered the same fate as the guards.

The first Lamenta had joined the group that had congregated in the Hall; there were a little less than twenty of them and Merlin could no longer tell one apart from the other. All of the women were huddled together, each slowly advancing towards the throne, and through the white mass of their dresses Merlin saw a flash of red—Arthur's shirt.

_Oh, well he _wouldn't_ be in chain mail_, Merlin thought.

"Stop it. I command you to stop," Arthur was shouting as he back away from the group, making sure to keep his distance. His eyes kept wavering from one woman to the other, as though Arthur was unsure what to do—or what any of them were planning to do. It wasn't as though they were armed. Still, they advanced, their hands held up to the King in search of a bare piece of his flesh.

"Arthur!" Merlin shouted, attracting the attention of the group.

"Seize him," one of the Lamenta hissed, and the others turned their advance on him.

"No! Merlin!" Arthur called desperately, reaching his hand fruitlessly towards his servant, and a Lamenta clamored at his shirt.

Panic filled Merlin as he looked over the Lamenta, his eyes catching Arthur's through the crowd. He couldn't use magic—_he couldn't_. Arthur would see him. But there were too many Lamenta, and there was nothing else Merlin had to protect Arthur.

He had no choice.

Taking a shaky breath in to calm himself, he stretched his palm out to the women. His eyes flashed a brilliant gold and his voice echoed throughout the Hall as he shouted, "_Ástríce bebiede__þe arisan_."

If Merlin didn't know better, he'd say Arthur had turned to stone with the Lamenta. His sad blue eyes were fixed on Merlin, his mouth slightly agape, and that's when Merlin noticed the stone hand that rested on Arthur's cheek.

The King's eyes rolled back and he fell heavily onto the stone floor.

"Arthur!" Merlin shouted, instinctively running towards him, but Arthur, who was already struggling to sit up, put a hand up, signaling Merlin to stop where he was, before gripping his side and letting out a painful grunt.

"_Don't_ come any closer," Arthur struggled to shout. "Stay where you are; stay away from me!" Merlin stopped running immediately, more so at Arthur's words than because of them. He was mere feet from Arthur, his arms swinging uselessly at his sides and his eyes already welling up.

"No," he said, shaking his head forcefully and holding back tears. "No, Arthur, you will _die_—"

"I said, _stay where you are_!"

Merlin was vaguely aware of Dean and Amy rushing into the throne room, Sam and Rory in tow just moments later. Arthur's eyes flashed behind Merlin at the newcomers—at Sam—as he propped himself up against the leg of his throne. Merlin tried to hold his gaze, but he faltered.

"All this time," Arthur said, his voice softer now, and Merlin wished he would scream instead. It would be easier that way. "You've had magic all this time . . ."

Arthur wore a strange, mixed expression, one that suggested the reveal of this secret was one he had never seen coming, and yet he'd been expecting it for quite some time. Merlin could almost see the King's mind reeling, thinking back to all those instances the word _magic _must have crossed his mind whenever he pondered on the puzzle that was his servant, an idea that was quickly dismissed but always seemed to linger like a pest in the back of his consciousness. Merlin wondered if the word _evil _was often considered next.

"Please, Arthur, just listen," Merlin tried to reason, and dared to take a single step forward. Arthur's eyes were like daggers. "You've got to let me help you."

"_Help_ me?" Arthur spat, letting out a hollow laugh. "For all I know, you could be working with Morgana!"

"No! I've only ever wanted to protect you—to protect Camelot. You _have_ to trust me."

"_You lied to me_!" Arthur boomed. "How can I ever trust you! Do you think I'm an idiot!" The strain was too much, and Arthur started coughing wildly, causing blood to pour from his lips. He clenched his side again and doubled over, but put his other hand up again to stop Merlin when he tried to come closer.

When the coughing fit ended, his eyes met Merlin's, and the sorcerer noticed they were redder than before, contrasting with the brilliant blue; Arthur tried desperately to show anger in them instead of pain. "You were the _only_ one I trust through and through," Arthur nearly whispered. "I thought of you as a _friend_, Merlin."

Merlin felt his heart shatter.

"Arthur, please—" he choked and took in a shuddering gasp, but there was no reply. Merlin's jaw clenched as he registered the light in Arthur's eyes had gone out. "A-Arthur?" The King lay motionless. "_Arthur_!" Finally, he ran the extra few paces toward Arthur and fell to his side, trying his best to shake him awake. Behind him, the others exchanged solemn looks but dared not speak as Merlin tried every healing spell he could think of to no avail.

It was the Doctor who finally stepped forward and ghosted his sonic screwdriver over Arthur's body. When the buzzing had stopped, he glanced at the readings and saw exactly what he expected. "He's dead," he said softly, looking down at Merlin, who didn't look back. "I'm sorry."

"Dead?" Sam spoke up from behind them. "How can he be dead? I thought his death is, uh—a fixed point, or something, right?"

Merlin almost broke his neck with the speed in which he looked back at Sam, then faced the Doctor, fractured bits of hope illuminating his soaked eyes. "That's right," he said. "You said it yourself. Arthur cannot die here!" He searched the Doctor's face for confirmation, but received none.

"Time can be rewritten," he said sheepishly, not looking Merlin in the eyes.

Merlin's face fell, and his glance fell on Arthur once more. "No," he said at last, the sorrow in his voice turning to anger. He stood up and faced the Doctor. "Time and time again, I've been told that it is my destiny to protect Arthur. That he will rule over the greatest kingdom this world has ever known, and that I must help him. Albion _must_ come to be, that's what I've been told. _You've_ even said it, Doctor!" The Doctor looked up at him, and a bit of the despair seeped back into Merlin's voice. "Do not tell me there's another path."

"I can't—"

"You control _time_," Merlin pleaded. "We can try again. We can go back and save him."

"He's already gone," the Doctor said, somewhat forcefully, as he gestured over to Arthur. "Going back and saving him now would cause a paradox." He registered Merlin's expression of part confusion, part apathy. "It's a—a rip—in time and space. Who knows what the consequences would be."

"I don't care!" Merlin shouted back. And he truly didn't. What did it matter to him if time fell apart or the world ended? For him, it already had the moment Arthur's heart stopped beating. The least he could do was make it official.

The Doctor held his gaze and muttered, "I do."

There was a pause, until Amy said, "Doctor." She moved toward him and rested a hand on his crossed forearms. "Maybe he's right," she started. "Maybe Arthur still _does_ die in the future. Maybe—maybe because _you_ save him today." She smiled softly, knowing she was getting through to the Doctor in the way only she could.

The Doctor's eyes flickered from her, to Merlin, to Arthur. "Maybe," he said finally, his voice bright once more. Merlin seemed to perk up as well. "If we go back far enough to stop the Lamenta before the past us get here . . . Yes, the Tardis may be able to sustain the paradox."

"Great, then let's do it," Dean decided.

The Doctor was still hesitant; he left Amy's side and paced around the room. "It's just—we'd have to do it quickly. After Merlin turns them to stone, we'd have to get a Lamenta _into_ the Tardis so it could work out the tear in time, or else the universe could fall apart."

"Right, so no pressure," Dean said, a little less confidently than before.

The Doctor stood still. "It's up to you, Merlin," he said, and all eyes fell on Merlin. "What do you say?"

Merlin gulped. He looked around at the stone Lamenta, their eyes covered in sorrow to resemble the statues that started this mess. Then he looked down at Arthur's lifeless body—the man that Merlin swore to protect; the man who didn't even accept who Merlin really was in the end.

Was there ever even a choice?

Merlin looked up at the others and smiled.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven.**

Merlin led them out of the castle and into the courtyard, where the Tardis still stood waiting for them. The Doctor ran ahead of the others to its doors and jammed the key inside the lock. The rest of the group followed him through the open doors and met him at the console deck, and he was already working on starting up the engines.

At once, Sam noticed that Merlin had not joined them around the controls, and he looked back at the door to find him still standing in front of them, his mouth wide with awe. "It's magic," he said with a swallow once he found his voice, trying to make sense of it all.

However, the Doctor let out a singular laugh. "That's what I keep trying to tell you," he said. "It's science." He flipped the last lever and the Tardis rattled and shook, shooting them through the time vortex. Sam held onto the railing around the console tightly and let out an excited holler as Dean stumbled back and latched onto Sam's shirt for support. He looked like he was going to be sick. Sam noticed Rory and Amy holding onto the edges of the console, and the Doctor was holding himself up with his hands on two levers and one leg propped up on another edge. As for Merlin, the sudden movement had made his feet get thrown out from underneath him, and he landed hard on his back. Just as Sam had begun to enjoy the ride, the loud clang of the engines and the movement ceased as fast as it had started, and everyone collected themselves.

The Doctor moved away from the console to address the group and rubbed his palms together eagerly. "I've brought us back to five minutes before the Lamenta broke out of the stone casing. That _should _give us enough time to do what we have to," he started. "Right, Merlin, I need you to get Arthur out of the throne room. Anyway you can, just make sure he's out of there before the Lamenta show up."

Merlin nodded dutifully.

"We're going, too," Sam told the Doctor, speaking for himself and Dean, and Dean stepped up next to his brother in solidarity.

"Kid might need some help," he said.

The Doctor looked between them and then said, "He's got it." He turned back to Merlin. "Once you've turned them into stone, Amy, Rory, and I will land the Tardis in the throne room. We've got to get a Lamenta into the ship before the past versions of us get there."

"We'll make sure he's not late," Amy assured Merlin, but it only made him visibly more nervous.

The Doctor ignored the comment. "Now, we've only got one go at this, so make it count."

The group broke and Merlin couldn't get out of the Tardis fast enough, Sam and Dean right behind him. When Sam closed the door once they had exited, he noticed that they were in a small room next to a stairwell. In front of them was a modest wooden door, and Sam reasoned it must be the back way into the throne room.

The Tardis roared and disappeared behind them, and Merlin cracked the door so the three of them could stick their heads and peer through. They saw the side of King Arthur, sitting on his throne and apparently deep in thought. They all stood straight in unison and Merlin closed the door.

"Let me talk to him alone," he said. "I'll call you when I need you."

"You sure?" Sam wondered. He didn't know if Merlin would be able to face Arthur after what had just happened, and there was also doubt in Merlin's eyes. Still, there wasn't must of a choice.

"Just stay here," Merlin said sharply, and slid through the door.

* * *

"Arthur, you've got the get out of here," Merlin didn't spare any time to say. He jogged in front of the throne and faced a very perturbed looking Arthur.

"I thought I told you to let me be," he said.

"Would you just listen!" Merlin snapped. He tried his hardest to hold Arthur's gaze, but it was more difficult than he expected. He felt his heart sink into his stomach as Arthur lifted himself from his throne and walked over to meet Merlin.

"I knew there was something the matter with you," Arthur said in a near gloat, but there was worry in his voice. "Have you finally come to tell me?"

"Arthur, please, there isn't any time. You've got to come with me."

"Not until you tell me what all this is about," Arthur said stubbornly—stupidly.

"Just trust me," Merlin pleaded, taking a small pause before he dared add, "as a friend."

Arthur searched Merlin's face. When he spoke again, his voice was smaller, "Merlin . . ."

In the midst of the debate, Merlin hadn't noticed Dean and Sam sneak into the room and behind Arthur. Dean had Sam's blade in his hands, and he swiftly raised it above Arthur's head and brought the blunt side crashing down onto the King's skull. Arthur's eyes fluttered in a daze, and then he fell face-first onto the ground. He was knocked out cold.

Dean looked over at Sam, pulled a face, and shrugged; Sam copied his brother's expression.

Merlin pressed his lips together. "Well, that's certainly one way to do it," he said aloud, wondering why he hadn't thought of that years ago.

From outside the main doors of the hall, he heard a stampede of footfalls, and he spun around just in time to see the large group of Lamenta appear.

There was a pause as the group looked at Merlin, Dean, and Sam with slight confusion, and then one of them hissed, "Kill them!"

But Merlin was ready. Just as they began to charge, he held up his hand to them and chanted, "_Ástríce bebiede__þe arisan_." The Lamenta froze in their places, each of them turning to solid stone angels.

Immediately after, a severe wind picked up inside the room, followed by a metallic clang, as the Tardis appeared and reappeared between the two thrones; and Merlin had to cover his face with his arm in attempt to keep the wind from blowing him too much. The doors creaked open and out came the Doctor and his companions, all of them studying the scene before them.

The Doctor looked at Sam and Dean, who were standing over an unconscious Arthur, and they stared back at him guiltily. "I leave you alone for _five minutes_—" the Doctor feigned to discipline.

"Doctor!" Amy shouted, panic in her voice. Her eyes were wide in the direction of the statues, and she and Rory didn't dare take their eyes off of them. That was when Merlin realized the statues had moved. Some of them had their arms held over their head, baring vicious fangs; others had an arm outstretched towards the group; and others still had remained in their original weeping pose.

"Ah, yes," the Doctor said, doing a bad job at hiding the worry in his tone. "I was afraid that would happen. It was always a possibility . . . Amy, keep your eyes on them. Rory, Merlin, help me get one into the Tardis. Quickly!"

Merlin spun back around to Sam and Dean. "Get Arthur to his chambers," he ordered. "It's directly above us." Sam and Dean nodded, picked Arthur up from both ends, and struggled to carry him out of the room.

Merlin rushed over to help the Doctor and Rory bring an Angel into the console room. They made sure to keep their eyes peeled on her, just in case she managed to come to life. It took them a few moments, but they finally managed to get it passed the door.

"Right," the Doctor said, running to the console and pulling some gadgets that were completely foreign to Merlin's eyes. "We need to get out of here. Where are Dean and Sam?"

"They took Arthur to his room," Merlin explained.

The Doctor looked up from the controls, agitated. "How long does it take to carry someone to their bedroom?"

"I'll find them."

Merlin ran out of the Tardis just as Sam and Dean scrambled to a halt beside one another inside the room, but they looked as through they were ready to start running again at any moment. The Doctor ran out to meet them, too.

"Good news," Sam announced. "People are starting to wake up."

"Yeah, but we might have a slight problem," Dean finished for him.

From up the stairs, outside the throne room, Merlin heard the loud call of a guard: "You men! Stop where you are!"

The Doctor swung his arm up and pointed behind him at the Tardis with his thumb. "Get in!" No one needed to be told twice.

Merlin was the last through the doors, and just before he got into the ship, he made eye contact with himself, who had entered the room and suddenly faded into nothingness.

* * *

The Doctor was at the console again, pushing buttons and pulling levers as they took off. "I've managed to use the psychic link between this Angel to tether the others—just giving them a tow. That includes the original statues they'd brought with them. They're a part of this now."

"Whatever holds the image of an Angel becomes itself an Angel," Amy explained, and the Doctor snapped his fingers and pointed at her.

"Where will we put them?" Merlin asked. "You can't possibly keep them here with you?"

"No," the Doctor agreed. "I'm bringing them to the safest place in the universe—the beginning of it."

The Tardis gave one last great shudder and then all went calm. Momentarily, the Doctor rushed towards the doors of the ship and opened them, revealing the dense darkness of space beyond, littering with pricks of bright light. The Doctor held out his sonic screwdriver and pointed it towards the Weeping Angel on the ship, which then began to slide towards the open entrance. It somersaulted through the vacuum.

"Come take a look," the Doctor told the others. "I've set up an oxygen bubble around the Tardis. It's safe."

Sam looked unsurely towards Dean, and then he, Dean, and Merlin crowded around the entrance. Amy, Rory, and the Doctor stood close behind them, grinning widely at each other as they watched.

Sam could hardly believe what he was seeing. They were floating in mid-space, darkness like a blanket around, interrupted by bright multitudes of color, swirling around underneath them. He saw the other Weeping Angels tumble downwards through space, all headed for a bright white ball in the center of a distant mass.

"This is the formation of Mintaka, a star in the constellation of Orion," the Doctor explained, in a voice that sounded like a dream. "It's brand new. I've disposed of the Angels inside the birthing star—gravity will do the rest. They'll get imprisoned in the center of it."

Sam tore his gaze from the sight and eyed Dean, to gage his brother's reaction. The swirling mass and far off lights were reflected in Dean's bright green eyes, and his lips were parted in stunned silence. Sam never imagined anything would quiet Dean like that. He looked back outside the doors, at the Angels falling towards the fire, and he wondered how something so giant and so monstrous could be so beautiful.

"Will they ever free themselves?" he heard Merlin say from beside him, a hint of sorrow in his voice. Sam was astounded in the fact that, after everything they had done, Merlin still felt sorry for them.

"Oh, of course. One day," was the Doctor's answer. "They've got a few billion years before any nosey neighbors come poking about to slow them down." Then he left their side and headed back to the console. The others followed and Sam reluctantly closed the door behind him to join them.

"So, you're saying we _made_ the Weeping Angels?" Dean was questioning.

"The Tardis created them," corrected the Doctor. "The Lamenta were creatures of great power. With enough time, one of them managed to break out of a stone casing; and that was under normal circumstances. Imagine what they'd achieve while time was fracturing around them. So the Tardis did the only thing it could do: reversed the paradox and fed the time vortex back into the Angels' psychic link, holding them in their _stony stasis_." He turned to Amy, who was smiling back him. "Well, that explains their ability to send people through time."

"Come again?" Dean said with a lick of his lips, a beyond confused look on his face. He scratched at his bronze freckled forehead. "Pretend I'm seven."

"It made sure that time was strong enough to keep the Angels stone. It didn't keep them from animating, but it slowed them down." The Doctor looked up at the time router and said to the machine, "You sexy thing, you."

"Yeah, but _why_ make people time jump? What's the point?" Sam wondered.

"Isn't it obvious?" the Doctor said, but he was met his blank stares. "I always thought they did it for sustenance, but now I see it's for another reason altogether. The Lamenta are servants, cursed forever to do their duty. They're looking for Camelot. They're looking for _you_, Sam," he explained. "Of course, with all of time and space to sort through, it'll take some time; but, centuries later, they're still trying to fulfill their orders. To kill the King . . . The Weeping Angels are creatures of potential energy. They're just trying to find another time stream—to send Sam back so they could give themselves another try. _Potentially_, they can still kill Arthur and change the future."

Merlin raised his eyes to this. "Will they ever succeed?"

The Doctor smiled warmly at him. "Not while I'm around," he promised.

He circled around the controls, getting them back en route to Camelot. "How's that for destiny?" he mused, pausing to direct his eyes at Merlin. "A paradox."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve.**

Sam exited the Tardis and met Merlin next to the small stone wall besides the abandoned hut in the forest. "Sure you don't wanna see what the future's like?" he asked, pointing a thumb back in the direction he came.

Merlin folded his arms across his chest and shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "No," he said. "It's a bit too strange in there for me."

"Yeah, I hear ya," Sam replied, and he knew it was time to say goodbye. With a sigh, he offered Merlin his hand, and the young sorcerer gladly shook it. "Take care of yourself, alright?" Sam said. "I wanna hear that Merlin took a few days off to get some drinks in those legends."

Merlin laughed at this. "I'm sure Arthur thinks I spend too much time in the tavern already." His smile faltered, and Sam saw that Arthur's rejection of Merlin's magic was still affecting him. How could not?

"Hey, don't let him get you down," Sam said in ways of comfort. "I mean, it's your destiny to turn him around to magic, right? Think of this as a—a second chance."

"I thought you said destiny was—what was it? 'Not all it's cracked up to be?'" Merlin countered, echoing Sam's words like they were foreign to him. Sam assumed they were.

"Yeah, well." Sam shifted a little, sticking his hands in his pockets and kicking at the dirt under his feet. He raised his eyes to look at Merlin. "My destiny—it kinda sucked," he said. "You've got something a little better . . . Just don't let it take over your life, alright? Like I said, take some time to yourself."

Merlin nodded, but Sam wasn't convinced.

"Just promise me you'll try?" he pleaded.

Merlin caught his eye. "Just answer me one more thing?" he asked. "In the future . . . is there magic? _Good _magic?"

Sam opened his mouth to say no, that, in his experience, there wasn't any; but then he reconsidered. He thought about Cas, who had made some mistakes along the way, but made them for all the right reasons. He thought of Pamela and Missouri Moseley; he thought of Gabriel, who wasn't such a dick in the end after all; he thought of Chuck and Kevin; he thought of Andy Gallagher. Maybe he didn't give magic the credit it deserved. Maybe he'd lost sight of a truth he used to believe in so strongly: not everything was black and white. Merlin was a prime example of that.

"Yeah," Sam said at last. "Yeah, I guess there is."

Merlin smiled warmly at this. "Then, yes," he said, hope twinkling in his blue-violet eyes. "I will try."

They said their goodbyes and Sam watched as Merlin disappeared into the trees, headed back towards Camelot. Then, he made his way back to the time machine, where the others were waiting for him around the console.

"So," the Doctor said, grinning, as he started up the engines. "Where to next?"

"Ah, just drop us off at the nearest American diner when there's cell phone service," Dean told him. "We'll find our way from there."

"Doctor," Amy said, tilting her head to the side and staring hard at the Doctor. From behind her, Rory was smiling.

"Yes, right," the Doctor said like something had just dawned on him, and turned back to Sam and Dean. "You two could come with us. All of time and space. Different planets. What d'you say?"

Sam wanted to say yes. He could think of nothing more amazing that sailing around in a time machine for as long as he was welcome. It would be a nice change, anyway. No more Leviathan, no more running, no more worrying about Bobby or Cas or saving the world—again. He could run away from it all, start a new adventure. Then he looked at Dean, and he knew none of that could ever be their reality. Dean didn't need the stars and planets; all he needed was a place to lay his head, his car, heavy metal classic rock, and a bacon cheeseburger. Dean liked to keep his world small, because their problems were too big. Through everything they'd been through, Dean relied on the simple things to get by—the familiar, the constant. Over the past year, they'd lost so many of those comforts, and Sam knew Dean couldn't bear to lose any more. Dean would stay behind, and Sam would go wherever his big brother went, like he always had, like he always will.

"Uh, thanks, but no thanks," Sam said, a smile on his face, happy with this choice. He looked at Dean. "We kinda got our own thing to deal with State-side."

Dean nodded in agreement. "Maybe next time," he said, and no one but Sam could hear the relief in his voice.

The Doctor looked slightly upset, but he understood. "Back to America, then?" he said, turning back to the controls of his magnificent machine. The engines roared.

Sam smiled. "There's no place like home."

* * *

When Sam stumbled out of the Tardis, it was daylight, and he was standing in the middle of a parking lot behind a strip mall. Dean followed behind him and attempted to shake the nausea out of his head. Sam tried and failed not to laugh at him.

"Finally! We're outta Middle Earth," Dean groaned. Then, when he realized where they were, he perked up. "Ah, dude! Nice!" he said enthusiastically. The Doctor had dropped them off right behind Dean's favorite restaurant in Connecticut, Rein's Deli. "There's a Reuben in there with my name on it," Dean said, slapping Sam's arm playfully with the back of his hand.

Sam heard the Tardis door creak open again, and he turned around to face the Doctor, Rory, and Amy.

"There you are," the Doctor beamed. "Just as promised."

Dean nodded happily. "Just as promised." He held his hand up in goodbye. "See you next time."

"Oi, don't even think about it, you," Amy called, striding up to Dean with crossed arms. She held her palm out to him. "Phone," she demanded. Dean rolled his eyes, shoved his hand into his pocket, and placed his cell phone in Amy's hand. She smirked at him and thumbed the keyboard.

"Our number," she told him, handing the phone back to him. "Just in case you ever need us again. Don't think you're getting away that easily."

"Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart," Dean said. The two smirked at each other, and then wrapped their arms around one another in a long embrace.

In the meantime, Rory had walked up to Sam and offered him his hand; Sam shook it. "Rory," he said with a nod. "I'll see you around."

"Yeah," Rory said. "But, next time, I think I'll have my wife wear something _other_ than a mini-skirt." He pulled an exaggerated face and titled his head towards Dean. "If you know what I mean."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, good idea."

Dean let go of Amy and Sam let go of Rory, and the two gave them one last smile and headed back into the Tardis, hand in hand. The Doctor stayed behind, gazing at Sam and Dean for a long moment before speaking.

When he finally did, he said, "Sam and Dean Winchester, all grown up and defending time and space and everything in between." He clapped a hand on both of their shoulders and smiled, a knowing air about him. "Your father would be proud."

Sam and Dean looked at him in wonder, but he only nodded his head shortly and turned back to the Tardis. Moments after he'd disappeared through the doors, the engines boomed and whirled, the wind picked up, and the blue box faded out of their world.

"Dean," Sam started after a long pause, saying what was on both of their minds. "You don't think Dad . . ."

"No way," Dean said, laughter in his voice; something which Sam had not heard in his brother in a long time. "No friggin' way!" He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, tossed his head back and whooped at the sky. "_Ha_!"

Sam stared at the spot where the Tardis had dematerialized and shook his head in amazement.

* * *

It was already midmorning when Merlin found his way back into Arthur's chambers. Thankfully, the city had woken up from Morgana's spell and no one seemed to remember any of the events from the previous night. Still, Merlin hesitated outside the door to Arthur's room, partly expecting to open it and find it empty—half expecting a mourning Gwen. What would he tell her?

He took a deep breath to prepare himself, pushed open the door, and found the King was already up, rushing to get dressed.

"Merlin!" Arthur called angrily when he saw him standing in the doorway. "_Where_ have you been? Guinevere will be here any moment and this place is a pig's sty!"

Merlin blinked at him in astonishment. It was as though nothing had changed. Did Arthur really not remember anything?

"Are you deaf or just stupid?" Arthur barked, his frustration mounting.

"No," Merlin said, snapping back into reality. "It's just—"

"Oh, I don't want to hear any of your excuses, Merlin," Arthur said. "I've a pounding headache. I feel as though I've been knocked over the head, and I haven't the faintest idea why." Merlin licked his lips and tried to suppress a smile. "Mind you, I had the strangest dream last night . . ." Arthur seemed to be thinking for a moment, and Merlin decided it was a good idea to distract him before he figured anything out.

"I keep telling you not to eat before bed," he said slyly.

Arthur ignored the comment. "And now I've got to find Annis' maids and prepare them for Guinevere's return."

"Oh—that won't be necessary," Merlin cut in suddenly. "They're gone. See, Queen Annis sent a rider in the middle of the night," he lied. "They were needed back in court immediately."

Arthur seemed relieved. "Thank God," he said, dropping his shoulders. "I can have the morning to myself." He found his sword on his nightstand and sheathed it. "And _you_ can spend the morning cleaning my chambers," he said, pointing accusingly at Merlin.

"Better get to it," he said, walking passed Merlin and starting towards the door. "Unless you expect this mess to _magically_ clean itself up." Merlin heard Arthur call as he walked down the hall, "That'll be the day."

Merlin looked around at the scattered clothes and scrolls littering the floor and grinned.


	13. Epilogue

**Epilogue.**

He sat on the edge of the bed, his feet planted firmly on the dirty carpet and his fingertips and palms placed together before his lips. The two people in the room next door had ceased fighting and were now groaning—but, no, they weren't hurting one another; it sounded much too pleasurable for that. In the small bathroom to his left, there was a leak in the sink faucet that dripped every thirteen seconds. The maid and her cart with the squeaking wheel had passed by nearly a half an hour ago, and he should know: he hadn't taken his eyes off the analogue clock, which ticked with every passing second, hanging on the stained wall in front of him all night.

But he knew he wouldn't have to wait much longer.

It had been two days since he got the texts. _"Oak Grove, Oregon. Weeping Angels."_ And then, promptly after the first: _"I'm staring right at John. He looks well."_

He didn't answer either text, but the man who had sent them knew he would take the case, and he would be checking in on the results at any moment.

Finally, there it was: the sound of metal against the wind, partnered with a flashing light in the car lot outside the motel room door. He stood up straight as soon as he heard it, tied his scarf around his neck, and flung his coat around his body before pushing up its collar to meet his cheeks. Then he stepped outside to meet the source of the noise, pocketing his hands while gazing at the solid blue wood of the Tardis.

The door creaked open and out stepped its pilot.

"Sherlock Holmes," the Doctor greeted him, grinning wildly as he rubbed his palms together eagerly and pointed at Sherlock. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

"Doctor," Sherlock said, the corner of his mouth twitching in a brief smile. "Back from the past, I presume?"

"Ah, nothing gets by you!" The Doctor was beaming again. "I've just spent the day saving King Arthur of Camelot with Merlin."

Nothing the Doctor said phased Sherlock anymore, but he did force a smile with considerably less difficulty than was required of late. Despite all his banter, the Doctor wasn't the blithering idiot he seemed to be. He wasn't boring. That was enough for Sherlock Holmes.

"Really?" he feigned impression. "It's a miracle you yourself didn't turn out to be Merlin."

The Doctor put on a dream-like grin and leaned against the side of the Tardis. "No," he said airily. "That would be a bit too obvious." He started again. "There were others! Dean and Sam Winchester. They hunt monsters."

Sherlock tried not to roll his eyes. "You know I don't believe in monsters, Doctor. Especially not your kind."

"No," he replied thoughtfully, stretching the word out to double its syllable. "It would take a lot to believe in my kind of monsters . . . And yet here you are."

The two men stared at each other for a pause, and Sherlock quite enjoyed the comfort of the silence, but he couldn't help but notice the absence of the constant bickering that usually accompanied the Doctor.

"Ponds?" he asked at once.

The Doctor patted the door of the Tardis. "Turned in for the night." And, although what the Doctor had said was the truth, it didn't mean he wasn't lying.

Sherlock grinned again. "You haven't told them," he said flippantly, but it wasn't a question.

"What, that you're alive?" the Doctor snapped. "They've only just found out you're dead. Give them some time to process. Blimey, Sherlock."

Sherlock knitted his brows together. "How much time is usually acceptable for people to _process_?"

The Doctor opened his mouth to answer this, and then seemed to reconsider. "No idea."

His next words came out before Sherlock could stop them: "And John?" He tried to ask it as casually as he had asked about Amy and Rory, but he felt his throat close up around the words and his apathetic tone seemed fake even to him. If the Doctor had noticed this, he didn't let on; but they both knew this was where the conversation would turn sooner or later.

"He's moving out of Baker Street," the Doctor informed him.

"Is he?" Sherlock tried apathy again, and it was easier this time.

"He misses you," the Doctor went on.

"Yes, I suppose he does."

"You miss him, too."

The Doctor raised his eyes expectantly at Sherlock, but Sherlock didn't answer right away. Instead, he fixed the Doctor with a hard stare. Yes, he had to admit that he did miss John, indeed. However, there was nothing he could do about it. He had tried to tell John he was alive—that it was all pretend. _Keep your eyes fixed on me_, he had said, but John didn't. He should have seen that coming, after all; John was never the most observant of people.

"The Angels," Sherlock said flatly, changing the subject. "They're taken care of. I've trapped them in the house."

"How'd you do it?" the Doctor wondered.

"Simply enough," Sherlock boasted. "Through their reflections. That household had an abundance of mirrors. Vanity is the _one_ redeemable quality of Americans, when called for. And we can thank the wife for her taste in that particular décor. It was all her doing. Obviously. Her word was law in the family. Wherever the Angels sent her back to, I do hope it's a time of equal rights for women."

"Imagine the riots she'd cause, if not," the Doctor retorted.

"I _imagine_ you'll want to take it from here?" Sherlock said, and the Doctor nodded.

"Oh, don't worry about that. I'll take the Angels to some desolate part of the universe where they can waste away in peace. Maybe that will get them out of my hair for a while."

Sherlock couldn't agree more. "You'll be off, then."

He was about to turn away when the Doctor offered, "Sure you don't want a lift back to England?" Sherlock turned to face the Doctor, and took in his pushed innocent expression and watched the way he jingled the Tardis key as he used it to point behind him at the doors. Sherlock knew what the Doctor was trying to do and, while appreciated, he couldn't go back just yet. He had to bide his time.

"No," he said. "I believe I'll stay in America for the time being."

The Doctor's face fell. "Fair enough," he said at last, but just as he climbed back into the time machine, he turned back around and caught Sherlock's eyes.

"And Sherlock?" he said. "I'd start believing in monsters if I were you. I have a feeling that's not the last we'll be seeing of the Winchesters—or Merlin."

Sherlock gave a dutiful nod, the one he learned from observing John. "As always, Doctor," he said with a smirk of anticipation. "You know how to find me."

The Doctor gave him one last sly grin and disappeared into the Tardis, and Sherlock watched as the box drifted away.

**THE END.**

* * *

**_Look out for Part II: Haunted Men, coming June 6, 2013._**

* * *

Soundtrack:_  
_**1. **___God's Gonna Cut You Down_ - Johnny Cash_  
_**2.**_Marching On_ - ONEREPUBLIC_  
_**3.**_Wake Up_ - Arcade Fire_  
_**4.**_Sail_ - AWOLNATION_  
_**5.**_Baba O'Riley_ - The Who_  
_**6.**_Don't Panic_ - Coldplay


End file.
